


Touch

by Gemmiel



Series: Touch Me [4]
Category: Free!
Genre: Fluff, Frottage, Hand Job, M/M, Post canon, Tickling, college fic, makoharu - Freeform, mushy stuff, tokyo fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-26 02:32:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6220204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemmiel/pseuds/Gemmiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haruka doesn't like being touched. But as always, Makoto is the exception to the rule.</p><p>A story about the evolution of touch in Haru and Makoto's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written for quite a while, and this is my first MakoHaru fic. Feedback would be the greatest thing in the world:-). It should run four or five chapters, and most of it's already written. The explicit stuff won't show up till later in the fic, but we'll get there!

Nanase Haruka does not like to be touched.

He's never liked it, not really. He's not sure why, but he's always resented people intruding into his personal space. Even his family-- even his beloved grandmother-- couldn't hug him when he was a child without Haru scooting backward as rapidly as possible.

The single exception to that rule is Tachibana Makoto.

When they were little, Makoto always used to grab Haru's hand when he was scared-- and Makoto was scared an awful lot back then. He'd always hide behind Haru, holding onto him, burying his face in Haru's shoulder, whenever anything startled him. Makoto was the most timid child imaginable, all big emerald eyes startled into hugeness at almost anything, and Haru didn't have the heart to push him away when Makoto clung to him. Eventually it happened so much that Haru had somehow grown used to it. He always just said softly, _It's okay, Mako-chan. It's okay._

And somehow that would make it okay.

Makoto isn't a little boy any longer. He's grown into a big, solid wall of a guy, taller and broader than Haru by quite a bit. Where he used to remind Haru of a clumsy puppy that needed petting, an awkwardly exuberant puppy with too-big paws and shaggily rumpled fur, he now makes Haru think of a big cat-- a lion, maybe, with that tawny mane and those green eyes. Powerful, sculpted muscles roll beneath sleek golden skin whenever he moves, and every step is imbued with a feline grace that belies his size.

But if he's a lion, he's a cowardly one. He's still easily frightened by ghost stories and abandoned places and horror movies, and he still hides behind Haru whenever he's freaked out. He doesn't cling to Haru's hand any longer-- they quit holding hands in middle school, when it started getting them funny looks-- but he still touches Haru easily, giving him a friendly shove when they're goofing around, giving his shoulder an affectionate pat in passing, or offering a hand to pull him out of the pool. Makoto's hands are so big that they almost engulf Haru's now, but he still seems to need reassurance through touch as much as possible.

If it were anyone else, Haru would resent it, would probably withdraw from that person as much as possible. But it's Makoto, and so he doesn't mind.

In fact, a little part of him actually kind of likes it.

*****

Not long ago, Haru discovered an appalling weakness about himself.

His best friends, including Makoto, ganged up on him in an effort to make him laugh-- something he admittedly doesn't often do. They cornered him in the locker room, pinned his arms, and tickled him mercilessly.

And he laughed.

It had been weirdly embarrassing to have a reaction forced out of him that way. His laughter sounded stupid to his own ears, high-pitched and shrill and irritating. He hadn't appreciated so many hands grabbing at him, either. He had glared at them all, with as much annoyance as he could muster, and they'd taken the hint, and hadn't done it again.

Except...

A couple weeks later, just a week or so before the two of them will be heading to Tokyo to begin their college career, he's roughhousing with Makoto. When the two of them are alone at Haru's house they sometimes wrestle, trying to get the other to say uncle first. They've been wrestling like two puppies to blow off steam since they were little. Nowadays Makoto is stronger, by virtue of his larger frame and more powerful muscles, but Haru is a crafty, fast opponent, and he manages to defeat Makoto about half the time despite his weight disadvantage. This afternoon he has Makoto pinned to the matted floor of his living room, pinned fair and square, when suddenly--

Haru doesn't know what hit him. Makoto's hands are on his stomach, the long, elegant fingers moving rapidly, and Haru hears himself gasping, squirming, his body arching in response to some stimulus he can't quite manage to process. Suddenly he finds himself on his back, thrashing helplessly.

Vaguely, very vaguely, he realized that Makoto is tickling him again. 

He's an athlete, accustomed to his body always being under his control. This helpless sensation is both disturbing and strangely pleasant. He feels defenseless, exposed, vulnerable, and if it was anyone else but Makoto--

But it is Makoto, and so it's all right.

Makoto's hands move across his abdomen, finding his most ticklish spots with unerring accuracy. Even through the fabric of a t-shirt, it's absolutely devastating, an irresistible sensation that can't be controlled or fought against. A series of horribly embarrassing sounds rise from Haru, frantic, high-pitched laughter mixed with what he can only call squeaking, and his body jerks spasmodically, his spine flexing, his arms flailing in a useless effort to mount some sort of defense. 

"S-s-s-stop," he manages at last, and Makoto stops instantly. Haru lies there twitching, gasping for breath, and Makoto grins down at him, the green eyes slitted in equal parts amusement and triumph. The predatory flash of teeth makes him look more like a big cat than ever. 

"Say uncle."

"You--" Haru pauses to pant. He tries for an irritated glare, but he has the feeling it isn't especially effective, considering he's still gasping for breath. "You _cheated._ "

Makoto lifts his hands threateningly over Haru's abdomen. " _Say uncle._ "

"Uncle!" Haru yelps.

Makoto breaks into a wide smile of victory and lets Haru up, and that's the end of it. Except it isn't, quite. Because ever since then...

Haru keeps remembering it, in warm, bright flashes of memory that intrude at the strangest times. The laughter that bubbled up of its own accord. The feel of Makoto's big hands on his abdomen, moving implacably, relentlessly, like they might never stop. The way it felt to roll on the floor, pinned helplessly beneath Makoto's heavier weight. The way his body quivered and twitched and trembled, totally beyond his control.

He keeps thinking about it, at times when he should be paying attention to his friends or to swimming or to packing for college. He thinks about it before he falls asleep, and while soaking in the tub. And no matter how hard he tries to forget it and think about something else, he just can't. The memory gives him a weird sensation, equal parts warmth and tension, curling deep in his belly. It makes his breath come faster, makes his heart thud like he's racing, and sometimes-- often-- he's hard-pressed not to squirm and gasp at the memory.

He thinks maybe he'd like Makoto to tickle him again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little mush before we move toward the hot stuff!

A week after they move to Tokyo, Makoto wants to watch a horror movie.

Friday night has been their shared movie night for as long as they've been friends, but Makoto is and always has been incapable of watching a horror movie for more than five minutes without hiding his face in Haru's shoulder. If they're in private-- or even with Rei and Nagisa, who don't ever give them weird looks-- Haru doesn't think twice about wrapping his arms around Makoto's shoulders to offer comfort. Half the time Makoto will wind up curled in a small ball, his head in Haru's lap and his arm over his eyes, much more like the puppy he once reminded Haru of than the lion he currently resembles.

Haru understands Makoto. He knows Makoto like no one else does. He figured out a long time ago that Makoto uses this quirk as an excuse to seek out the consolation of physical contact when he's in dire need of it. When Makoto's parents spent a month fighting over their finances, Makoto wanted to see a horror movie every single Friday that month. When his baby sister was sick enough to spend four days in the hospital, Makoto demanded a horror movie. When he was having trouble with schoolwork, when his parents talked seriously about leaving Iwatobi, when the kids at school were hassling him about how tall he was growing--

Anyway, Haru gets it, and he honestly can't blame Makoto for feeling scared and insecure right now. The truth is that he's pretty damn unsettled himself. It's not school-- his classes aren't too bad, and his professors seem decent enough. And more importantly, his swim coach is awesome. No, college isn't worrying him, and he doesn't think it's what's troubling Makoto, either. It's more that they're both homesick.

Maybe homesick is a stupid word for it. They're both eighteen, after all. Grown up, old enough to be on their own. And yet...

Haru hasn't lived with his parents for years, so he doesn't have a family to miss, but he misses the comforting familiarity of Iwatobi, every road, every alley, every bit of beach known and etched permanently into his brain. He misses all the familiar faces, all the kids he grew up with, all the adults who quietly looked after him when his grandmother died, leaving him on his own. More than that, he misses the house he's always lived in, his tub, his too-small bed, and perhaps most of all, the serenely happy memory of his grandmother that still seems to inhabit the place, making it a home.

Tokyo is just so... big. Terrifyingly huge, if he's going to be honest about it. He's used to a small, unchanging village, but nothing about Tokyo is small. The buildings reach toward the heavens, and the city itself seems to stretch on forever, like the ocean, like the sky. Even worse, every day it seems to shift unpredictably around him. None of the roads are mapped out in his head yet, and the knowledge that he could easily lose his way with every step really freaks him the hell out.

He imagines Makoto feels much the same, plus he misses his parents and Ren and Ran, and probably all the stray cats he's bonded with too. Makoto is a gentle, quiet soul, and Tokyo is too hard-edged and loud for him to adjust easily.

So when Makoto suggests a horror movie, Haru shrugs and digs one out without comment.

They're sitting on the floor, backs against the cheap couch they bought when they moved into this apartment, and by the time the first hapless blonde wanders into the abandoned haunted house featured in the movie, Makoto's already given up all pretense of bravery. He whimpers and presses his face into Haru's shoulder, and Haru puts his arms around him. 

"It's okay, Mako-chan," he says, soft and low, reverting to the childhood diminutive, the way he always does when Makoto is scared.

Makoto is sniffling into his shoulder, and Haru knows perfectly well it's not the movie that's bothering him. He doesn't pester Makoto about it, just keeps his arms around the broad shoulders and watches the movie, waiting for more. Five minutes later, there's another sniffle, and words uttered in a voice that cracks and quavers.

"I miss home, Haru-chan." 

Haru doesn't tell him to lay off the -chan. "Yeah," he says simply. "Me too."

"I'm glad--" Makoto's voice is muffled in Haru's t-shirt, but Haru can understand him perfectly well. He always understands Makoto. "Glad you're here."

"Yeah." Haru decides to do something he doesn't ordinarily do, since his friend is so upset, and runs his hand through Makoto's hair. It's as soft as it looks, and it's surprisingly difficult to stop stroking it. "You too. I guess I'll get used to it, but Tokyo is so..."

"Scary."

"Big." Haru sighs and turns his face into Makoto's hair. It smells like sunshine and spring flowers. _Shampoo,_ the more prosaic part of his brain informs him. But he ignores that part of his brain, because he's absolutely certain that whatever shampoo Makoto uses, it couldn't possibly smell like that on someone else. Some of that fragrance might be shampoo, but the fresh, clean sweetness of it is all Makoto.

"I guess..." Makoto gulps against his shoulder. His voice wavers. "I guess living in Iwatobi all our lives didn't exactly prepare us for this."

"We'll get used to it." Haru breathes in the scent of sunshine more deeply. On the screen, a redheaded girl is dying horribly at the hands of some angry spirit, but Haru is focused on his friend, not the movie, and he barely notices the screaming. "We will, Mako-chan. We just have to give it time."

Makoto inhales deeply, sounding like he's breathing in Haru, too. Which is stupid. He's probably just trying to get control over his wobbly voice. At last he says, a little more steadily, "I'm glad you decided to come here, Haru. Glad we could share an apartment. That we could do this together."

"Me too." Haru doesn't like thinking about the night he found out Makoto was planning on leaving for Tokyo. It had been one of the worst nights of his life. He'd spent his whole life with Makoto by his side, and when the fact that his best friend would be leaving Iwatobi sank in, he instantly felt abandoned, cast adrift, like he was losing what mattered most. It was like being kicked in the head, painful and disorienting. He'd reacted with irrational rage, shouted at his friend, and spent the night curled up, crying into his pillow.

If he's honest about it, the fear of losing Makoto had always been a large part of what had been bothering him about making up his mind about what he wanted to do as an adult. Whatever his future might hold, he wanted Makoto to be part of it. He still does, and he's profoundly grateful he'd been accepted on a collegiate swim team in Tokyo not long afterward. Grateful that things worked out so that he could remain by Makoto's side.

Makoto must be thinking along the same lines, because his arms slide around Haru's waist and hold tight. "Haru," he whispers. "I couldn't do this without you. You're my rock. You always have been." 

Haru smiles, very slightly, against his hair. "And you're my water, Makoto."

He means to say that in this strange new place, Makoto is all he has to support him, all that's keeping him afloat. He means that Makoto, like the water, has always been there-- a constant and unchanging companion, an element of his life that he couldn't bear to lose, an element he can't imagine living without.

But he's never been very good with words, particularly when it comes to articulating his feelings. Fortunately he doesn't really have to say anything else. Everyone knows what water means to him, Makoto most of all. He knows he is understood because Makoto presses even closer, the movie completely forgotten.

They stay like that a long, long time. Not speaking, but communicating all the same. It dawns on Haru that touching Makoto this way, holding him when he's distressed, is almost as nice as being tickled, and yet it makes an entirely different kind of warmth curl inside him-- a sort of strange tenderness that lodges in his chest instead of his lower belly. It's a warmth that isn't touched with a delicious edge of tension, but is instead just a sweet wash of gentle heat, like the waves of the ocean lapping softly against the shore in summertime.

Haru feels like he could float in that warmth forever.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More tickling, some sexual tension, and a tiny touch of angst.

"Ugh. I'm never moving again."

Makoto is sprawled out on the couch in their living room when Haru comes in from swim practice, his long form taking up every inch of the available space and then some. His legs hang over the arm a bit, and one arm dangles to the floor. He looks like he's boneless with exhaustion.

Haru knows how he feels.

College is an experience they're both grateful for, now that some of the first pangs of homesickness have eased. Haru is even more grateful for his swim coach, who is working with him to smooth some of the rough edges off his stroke. He's improving, day by day, week by week, and that's worth the price of exhaustion to him.

Still, it's hard to stumble into the apartment after a hard afternoon of swim practice and know he has to study long into the night. He's tired and hungry and he'd give almost anything to sit down to a peaceful evening and a decent meal of mackerel and rice. But he also knows he doesn't have the time or the energy to prepare much of anything.

He sinks down on the floor next to the couch, since Makoto is taking up all the upholstered space, and leans his head back. It happens to fall against the side of Makoto's chest, which isn't a particularly soft pillow. Haru doesn't mind.

"I'm tired too," he says with a sigh. "I should get right to it, but I need a little break before I start studying."

"Want to play a video game?"

"Eh," Haru says. The thought of moving his head off Makoto's chest doesn't appeal. It isn't like him to seek out physical contact-- that's more Makoto's thing-- but somehow these days, he finds himself touching Makoto more and more often. Only in little ways, casual ways, almost accidental ways. But he's beginning to actively enjoy that contact, in a way he never did before.

He remembers his own softly spoken words, a few weeks ago: _You're my water, Makoto._

He thinks wryly that he never was much good at keeping away from water.

"Don't want to get up," he says. His eyelids are beginning to feel heavy.

"Hey." Makoto lifts his dangling arm and wraps it around Haru in a half-hearted bear hug. "No falling asleep. You've got that English essay to write, remember?"

"I hate English," Haru grumbles.

"Don't care. You need to work. We both do."

"Give me a couple minutes."

"Nope." Makoto squeezes harder. "Get moving, Haru-chan."

"Lay off the -chan." Haru grumbles the words more because they're expected than because he feels any real irritation. He knows Makoto is trying to annoy him into moving, though, so he reaches backward, wrapping his own arm around Makoto's throat. It's an invitation to wrestle, and Makoto seems agreeable. His other hand comes around, grabbing Haru by the shoulder.

A little ripple of anticipation runs through Haru, waking him up a hell of a lot more than the thought of homework had. He remembers the last time they wrestled, the way Makoto tickled him, the way he wound up flailing on the floor, helpless.

And the way he liked it.

He hooks his arm fully around Makoto and tugs, yanking him off the couch. Makoto is a big guy and Haru probably couldn't move him without cooperation, but apparently he's in the mood to play. He flops off the couch, and almost instantly they're rolling around on the floor, trying to get the best of each other.

A few moments later, Makoto (who hasn't been wearing himself out swimming all afternoon) is on top, trying earnestly to pin his arms, when Haru glances down and notices that his black t-shirt has ridden up, exposing a rather wide stretch of golden skin. After a moment of struggle, he manages to get one of his hands free and places it onto the flat, hard planes of Makoto's stomach, wiggling his fingers experimentally.

Makoto's reaction is instantaneous. He rolls over onto his back, howling.

"Haru-chan!"

Sensing weakness, Haru goes after him with both hands. Makoto is a lot more ticklish than he is, apparently. Or maybe it's just that his hands are directly on Makoto's skin, whereas last time Haru got tickled through a t-shirt. Haru doesn't know, but something inside him is delighted to have Makoto at his mercy so completely. He doesn't relent, just keeps going until Makoto is giggling like they're six again.

He stops before Makoto is gasping too desperately for breath. Sitting on top of him, he holds his fingers a few millimeters away from all that vulnerable tanned skin, and glares down, trying to look dangerous.

"Say uncle!"

"People... people..." Maybe he pushed it a little too far. Makoto is definitely having trouble getting his breath, and he doesn't seem to be making a lot of sense. Haru cocks his head, confused.

"What about people?"

"Something... Ama-chan... used to say." Makoto's chest is heaving, his back flat against the floor. He looks utterly defeated, and Haru congratulates himself on his superior combat skills. Makoto might be bigger, but he's no match for Haru's devious mind. He frowns down at his friend.

"She used to say a lot of stuff. What are you talking about?"

"People... who live in glass houses..." Makoto's teeth suddenly flash in a feral smile. "Shouldn't throw stones!"

Haru has no time to consider the possible profound philosophical implications of that sentence, because Makoto's hands are suddenly on _his_ stomach, _beneath_ his t-shirt this time.

He's on his back before he knows what happened. Makoto's hands are everywhere beneath his shirt, tickling his abdomen, his ribs, his sides, even under his arms. He is relentless in his quest for revenge, and Haru can't stop laughing. He tries to mount a counterattack, but it's not entirely successful, mostly because he's laughing too hard. Makoto is laughing too, but Haru isn't sure if it's because of his tickle attack, or because his efforts are so pathetically inept.

At last he squeaks, "Uncle!" and Makoto falls on top of him, still giggling.

Haru tries to suck in a huge gasp of air, and can't, because Makoto weighs approximately one thousand kilos. Maybe two thousand. "You are _heavy,_ " he croaks. 

"Oh. Sorry." Makoto rolls to the side. Their arms are still wrapped around each other, and their legs are intertwined. Not due to any intentional planning, but just because it sort of happened during their battle. Their bodies fit together oddly well, and being all tangled together with Makoto is so warm and comfortable that Haru lets his eyelids drift shut. That sunshine-and-spring fragrance floats to his nostrils, tempting him to bury his face against Makoto's chest, but he manages to control himself and settles for inhaling deeply. Then he opens his eyes to find that Makoto's face is centimeters from his own.

The green eyes are staring into his, and Makoto isn't laughing any more.

Haru stares back. The sensation of comfortable warmth fades away, and deep inside him something hot and hungry begins to glow. He's aware of a rapidly intensifying heat everywhere Makoto's hands touched him, as if the nerve endings along his chest and abdomen and back are all firing of their own accord. An image flashes into his brain, the memory of Makoto tickling him, those long fingers stroking over his bare skin, and his muscles go rigid with anticipation and a rush of something he can't quite identify.

A rush of... want.

He's startled to realize that he _wants_ to be touched, craves Makoto's touch so badly that he aches for it. Suddenly touch doesn't seem like something to merely be tolerated, or something that's mildly pleasant. In this moment, it seems like something that he can't live without. 

For the first time, he fully and completely understands Makoto and his horror movies.

His breath is still coming in hard, fast pants. In fact, he's breathing harder than he was during their battle, if he's going to be totally honest with himself. Everything inside him is coiled in anticipation, tense and eager, longing for more contact, desperate for it. His fingers curl into the fabric of Makoto's t-shirt.

Makoto lifts a hand, and very gently brushes the too-long bangs out of Haru's eyes. Haru waits, trembling, and Makoto's hand drops to his cheek.

"We had better get to our studying, Haru," he says softly.

Haru swallows. He's no good with words. He never has been. He wants and he needs, just like anyone else, but too often he doesn't quite know what to say, or how to ask for what he wants. This is one of those times. His inability to articulate his feelings has always been a stumbling block for him, but right now it's an enormous boulder sitting between the two of them, and Haru doesn't know how to scramble over it.

He turns his face into Makoto's warm, rough palm, hoping it will be enough to convey what he wants. _Touch me again. Please._

But Makoto doesn't seem to get it, probably because Haru has virtually never been the one to initiate physical contact between them. Or maybe he just doesn't want to touch Haru all that much. Haru doesn't know for sure, and can't bring himself to ask.

Makoto drops his hand away and sits up. His face is red, and he doesn't seem to know where to look. He clears his throat awkwardly, several times, then gets to his feet, avoiding Haru's gaze. 

"I've got a ton of stuff to read," he says, his voice oddly high-pitched. He grabs several books and a few notebooks, then disappears into his bedroom with an armload of books. The door clicks shut behind him.

Haru, still sprawled on the floor, stares after him blankly. His body is still clamoring for touch, but more than that, he really wants Makoto's presence. The two of them have always studied together in the evenings, ever since middle school, and since they moved to Tokyo they've made a practice of hanging out together in the living room while they do their work. He might be socially inept, but he knows Makoto, and he can tell his friend feels uncomfortable about what just happened-- or didn't happen-- between them.

Even so, surely Makoto will come back before long.

He sits up, leaning back against the couch. Then he pulls his knees up and rests his chin on them, unconsciously curling into a tight, defensive ball. He sits like that for a long while, waiting, but Makoto's door doesn't open.

At last Haru gets up, collects his own work, and goes quietly into his own room, closing the door behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of a time jump here. We will get back to what happened at the end of the last chapter, and everybody's insecurities and doubts, in the next chapter. But for now, here is some hot stuff, as promised. Admittedly it's not *too* hot-- I'd characterize this as nondescriptive smut. I do hope you guys find it satisfactory, though!

"Damn it."

Seated on their couch, Haru reaches back and tries to rub at his own shoulder. It's been a tough week, weighted down with exams and papers and endless studying. Not to mention the fact that his coach is pushing him to achieve faster and faster times. He's training hard in the gym, too-- necessary if he wants to build the kind of body a professional swimmer needs, but the unavoidable result is that his shoulders and back ache.

Makoto is sitting cross-legged on the floor, glasses perched on his nose, perusing a huge textbook with great intensity. At Haru's low curse, he glances up, looking at Haru over his glasses. "You okay?"

"Just sore." Haru rubs harder, but it doesn't have much effect. He's simply not at the right angle for it. He sighs, and flops back against the cushions tiredly.

"Want a shoulder rub?"

Haru swallows. He remembers the last time Makoto touched him as vividly as if it were yesterday, instead of two weeks ago. He remembers the strange glow of heat deep inside his gut, and the way his nerves all caught fire.

And he also remembers how Makoto avoided him for three days. 

Makoto is his best friend, and Haru doesn't ever want to do anything to jeopardize that. Makoto has been a daily part of his life since he can remember, and when Makoto had withdrawn from him for those three days, he hadn't known what to do or how to fix whatever he'd inadvertently broken between them. Admittedly things between them had gotten back on an even keel pretty rapidly, more or less of their own accord. But the thought of Makoto retreating into his own room again, avoiding eye contact, and not hanging out with him for another three days, or maybe even longer-- well, it scares him. It scares the hell out of him.

He has to admit he likes to be touched, but he likes simply being with Makoto even more.

"You're studying," he says, thinking it's just better to avoid the whole issue of touching. Safer.

"I can take a break." Makoto stands up, putting his book and glasses aside, and walks over to the couch, moving with the leonine grace that takes Haru's breath away. "Sit on the floor."

Haru swallows, then moves to the floor. He's pretty sure this is a bad idea, but he's also weak, very weak, when it comes to being touched by Makoto.

Makoto settles onto the couch, then reaches out and puts his hands on Haru's shoulders, rubbing experimentally. His hands move with confidence, and he doesn't seem at all awkward or unsure. Of course, he's given Haru back rubs plenty of times before, since they were on the swim team together. But they're not on the swim team any more, and besides, things aren't quite the same, now that Haru has discovered this craving for touch within himself.

Makoto's fingers press into his sore muscles, and Haru hisses.

"You really are stiff," Makoto says. His strong fingers work harder, digging in, and Haru's head falls forward. 

" _Unhhhh._ "

He's a little embarrassed by the noise of pleasure that escapes him, but Makoto doesn't seem to notice or care. "There we go," he says, and begins to massage Haru's aching shoulders firmly, focusing hardest on the areas that force a grunt from him. Haru tries to keep a lid on his vocal responses, but it just feels... so... _good._

After a few moments, Makoto pauses. Haru whines a protest. "Makoto. Don't stop."

"This isn't working."

"It's working fine. I just have a lot of knots."

"I don't think it's enough. Hang on. I have an idea." Makoto gives him a pat on the shoulder and gets up, disappearing into the bathroom they share. A moment later he re-emerges holding a bottle of oil.

"Take off your shirt," he says.

It's a perfectly reasonable request. Since they used to swim together, Makoto has seen him without his shirt approximately a zillion times. It shouldn't be a big deal. But something in Haru's mind stalls and freezes at the thought of peeling off his t-shirt right now. He remembers the last time Makoto put his hands on his skin, the way he reacted, the way he _wanted._

No. Definitely not a good idea.

Makoto sits down behind him, perching on the edge of the couch. "Come on, Haru. Hurry up. I have studying to get back to."

His tone is indifferent, even a little impatient, exactly as if the last time they touched each other hadn't affected him in the least. As if the feel of Haru's back beneath his hands doesn't make him feel any sort of reaction at all. Haru wonders if maybe he misread Makoto's response last time, if maybe it hadn't been embarrassment at all. Maybe he hadn't been affected by their nearness at all. Maybe he'd been upset over something that had nothing whatsoever to do with Haru. 

Haru wishes he were better at understanding these things.

He hesitates a second longer, then tugs off his t-shirt and tosses it aside. Behind him, he hears a startled intake of breath.

"Wow, Haru. You really have been working out, haven't you?"

Haru knows he's gotten bigger, his muscles more defined, but it never occurred to him that Makoto might be impressed by the improvement in his physique. The undisguised admiration in his friend's voice knocks him for a loop. Makoto no longer sounds indifferent, and that makes his heart pound a little faster. "Um," he says, with all the verbal brilliance he's known for. "That's why I'm sore."

Makoto utters a short laugh. "Yeah, I guess it is." He pours oil onto Haru's shoulders and begins rubbing it in. It makes a squelching sound, and it smells kind of like salad, but it feels like heaven on earth. The oil warms up rapidly under Makoto's ministrations, and the heat seems to sink into Haru's shoulders, easing away the ache. 

He whimpers.

It's not even a grunt this time, the kind of involuntary noise that anyone might make during a massage. It's a full-on whimper, a small, pitiful sound that's outright _needy._ Haru is almost as embarrassed as when he was tickled into laughter. He grinds his teeth, trying to hold in any other ridiculous sounds that might escape. But then Makoto moves down his back, to the aching muscles between his shoulder blades, and he groans. Loudly.

"God, Haru, you're a mess," Makoto says, apparently oblivious to his embarrassment. "I think you're working too hard in the gym. Is your lower back sore?"

In fact his lower back muscles are pretty stiff, but Haru shakes his head. "They're fine," he grits out.

"You're a liar," Makoto says amiably. "Do me a favor and stretch out on the carpet, will you?"

"I'm fine, Makoto. You have..." Makoto digs his thumbs into an especially sore spot, and Haru briefly loses track of what he was trying to say. "Unnhhhh. You have, um, studying to do. So do I."

"You'll study better if you're relaxed. And I'll study better if you're not wincing and flinching all evening. It hurts me just to look at you when you're this sore. Go ahead, lie down on the carpet."

Reluctantly, Haru shifts, stretching out full-length, face downward on the rug on the floor. His arms are crossed beneath his head, and the carpet is nice and soft. Makoto slides off the couch and slathers more massage oil over his back, then shifts himself so he's straddling Haru's thighs. Haru is once again pinned beneath him, helpless, and his heart pounds harder. But Makoto doesn't seem to be thinking about tickling him. His big, strong hands dig into Haru's muscles with more force than before.

"Ahhhhhhh." Haru tries to stifle his moan by pressing his mouth against his arm, but he's uncomfortably aware that Makoto can almost certainly hear it. Makoto's incredibly talented hands massage him harder, deeper, and it feels so good that despite Haru's natural tendency toward reticence, he can't seem to shut himself up. He hears himself uttering _ahhhs_ and _ohhhs_ and even a couple of _oh God Makotos._ He thinks he sounds like he's starring in a porn film, and that ought to embarrass the hell out of him, but he is rapidly moving past caring.

Even so, he struggles to hold himself together, and he manages fairly well until Makoto gets to the sore muscles of his lower back, right above the waistband of his jeans. When Makoto's fingers dig in there, he loses it completely, groaning out a long stream of _right there Makoto ahhhh yes **yes,**_ moaning like he's in ecstasy. He is, kind of. It feels incredible.

After ten minutes or so of that he's utterly relaxed, all aches gone. He expects Makoto to stop at that point, but instead Makoto begins to progressively lighten the pressure, until his fingers are gliding delicately over the slick surface of Haru's skin, his touch more like a caress than a massage. It's almost like being tickled again, except it doesn't make Haru feel like he needs to laugh. But it does give him that familiar sensation of heat and tension gathering in his stomach, like summer stormclouds in the sky.

Makoto's fingers slip up and down his spine, creating exquisite sensations, then delicately brush over the nape of his neck and the swell of muscle along his shoulders. They trail fire in their wake, and Haru squirms helplessly against the carpet. Words escape him of their own accord. 

"Makoto. Ohhh, Makoto. Oh... yes... oh, _fuck..._ "

"Haru." Makoto's voice is so low and rough it hardly sounds like him. The way he says the name rocks Haru to his core, making him shiver. "Ah, Haru, _Haru-chan..._ "

The body above him shifts, and he realizes that Makoto has leaned forward, covering Haru's body with his own larger one. The hands fall away from him, bracing on the carpet on either side of him, and he can feel Makoto's hot breath against his nape. The sensation of Makoto's breath brushing over his sensitized skin makes him shudder.

On some level, Haru is terrified of this-- whatever _this_ is-- somehow changing things between them, terrified that Makoto might simply get up and withdraw into his room again, terrified that this could somehow screw up their friendship. He knows that he's not very good with relationships, that he tends to clumsily misread what other people are thinking, and in this situation he could so easily do the wrong thing, upset or unbalance things between them somehow. And yet he wants... he _wants..._

He shoves all his anxieties and fears aside impatiently, because for the first time, he knows exactly what he wants, with no doubt, no confusion, no uncertainty. He wants Makoto's hands all over him. He wants to feel Makoto's skin against his. He wants to feel Makoto's mouth touching him. 

He simply wants Makoto, so badly he can hardly hold still.

Makoto isn't stroking his skin any more, just kind of hovering over him, and he is pretty certain he's going to die if Makoto doesn't touch him in some way. Makoto's breath is coming in hot little pants against his skin, and he thinks maybe the other man feels the same way, but just doesn't quite dare move forward. Haru moans, lifting up and back a little, so that his body presses against Makoto's from hip to shoulder. 

"Haru," Makoto says again, lower and rougher than before, and then his lips are brushing Haru's skin, right where his neck meets his shoulder.

Haru lets out an explosive exhale, releasing a breath he wasn't even aware he was holding. His hands ball into fists and his back arches involuntarily, so that his ass rubs against the front of Makoto's jeans. He hears Makoto utter a whimper that's at least as pathetic as the noises Haru has been making. 

Makoto kisses the side of his neck, over and over again, lowering his body so he's pressed up against Haru's back. His body is moving too, and Haru slowly realizes that Makoto is rubbing against him, almost grinding himself against Haru's jeans. With every motion of his body he gives a little high-pitched whimper, which ought to be funny but instead is so incredibly hot it takes Haru's breath away.

Makoto's mouth, hesitant at first, begins to move with more confidence. He nips lightly at the sensitive skin of Haru's neck, making Haru gasp out his name and arch his back again. His lips trail across Haru's shoulders and down his spine, so that Haru thrashes beneath him. What began as a pleasant warmth is rapidly turning into an all-consuming fire, burning out of control. 

Makoto bites into Haru's shoulder, fairly hard, and Haru hears himself almost sobbing. "Makoto, ahhhh, Makoto--"

His own hips are thrusting against the carpet, not through any conscious choice but because his body demands it. Makoto is moving hard against him now, and he's groaning out Haru's name too. His mouth is everywhere, brushing kisses over Haru's ear and cheek and hair, and Haru wishes he could kiss Makoto too, but his lion has him pinned now, and doesn't seem inclined to let his prey escape. 

Makoto's whimpers have shifted to deep, low groans. His body is trembling noticeably, and they're both drenched with sweat. Haru presses up against him again. He remembers how it felt to have his hands on Makoto's skin, and suddenly he finds it unreasonably annoying that Makoto's t-shirt is still between them.

"Makoto," he mutters. "Take your shirt off."

Makoto gives a low rumble of approval, and for just an instant his weight lifts off Haru. The shirt flies across the room, and then Makoto is against him again, his hot sweaty chest pressing against Haru's back, and both of them groan with the pleasure of it.

A terrible tension is coiling inside Haru, a need greater than anything he's ever known. He aches for release, needs it with a desperation he's never felt before. Makoto's hips are moving hard against his ass, and he's pressing wildly against the floor, but it's not enough. He wants-- he needs--

Makoto lifts up a little to kiss his shoulder blade, and Haru takes advantage of that unguarded moment to swiftly roll onto his back, so that he's facing the other man. Driven by instinct, he wraps himself around Makoto, his arms sliding around the powerful back, his legs around the narrow hips.

They fit like they were made for each other, and suddenly they're moving together as one, both equally frantic for release. 

The desire to kiss Makoto hits Haru again, harder than before. He guesses correctly that Makoto isn't bold enough to kiss him on the mouth, so he pulls down the tawny head and initiates a kiss himself. He's never kissed anyone before, and he's way too far gone for any sort of self-control, so it's sloppy and wet and not likely to go down in history as one of the greatest first kisses ever. But Makoto doesn't seem to mind. His lips part, his tongue seeking Haru's, and suddenly the kiss is sloppier and wetter than ever. But messy and awkward though it is, the caress of Makoto's tongue against his sends sparks through Haru, lighting up all his nerve endings, firing his blood, heating his skin.

They moan into each other's mouths, bodies moving together, hips grinding. Some part of Haru would like to get rid of the jeans between them too, but neither of them can possibly wait that long. Haru lets himself indulge in running his palms all over Makoto's back, which is slick with sweat, and corded with heavy muscles that ripple beneath the skin with every movement. He spends several moments exploring the width of it, the solidity, the sheer power.

At last he strokes his hands downward, finds Makoto's hips, and digs his fingers into the tight, denim-clad ass, yanking Makoto even closer.

Makoto shakes all over. He drags his mouth away from Haru's, panting heavily, and buries his face in his throat. "Haru, ahhh, yes, yes, _Haru-chan_ \--"

His hips jerk and spasm, and anything else he might have said is lost in a long, wordless cry of pleasure. The sensation of Makoto shuddering against him, the raw, wild sounds of him coming, the feel of Makoto's hot, damp skin beneath his hands-- all of it combines to drive Haru right over the edge.

He cries out Makoto's name, then surrenders to the heat and lets it flood him with ecstasy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys discuss their feelings in a calm, measured, and totally rational fashion.
> 
> Yeah, you're right, that would be way out of character, wouldn't it? Actually, Makoto freaks out and Haru gets downright salty. Feelings are discussed, but in a slightly less than calm fashion.
> 
> Note: I am using the English dub as my basis for the scene referenced. The sub's phrasing is quite different.

When Haru comes back to himself, he becomes aware that Makoto has rolled off him. He can hear Makoto's rough, harsh panting, and he lazily rolls his head in that direction.

Makoto is sprawled out on the floor next to him. His skin is so wet with sweat that it glistens, his shaggy hair is plastered to his forehead, and his chest is still heaving. Haru feels briefly pleased with himself. He might be a total novice at this stuff, but he obviously did an okay job, or Makoto wouldn't be lying there looking like he was just hit by a truck.

The smug, satisfied feeling lasts all of ten seconds, until he sees a tear trickle down Makoto's cheek.

Anguished guilt explodes in Haru's chest. Damn it. He's screwed up again, somehow, though he hasn't the faintest idea how. He's done something terribly wrong. He's hurt Makoto, and that is the last thing he ever wants to do.

"Makoto," he whispers faintly, reaching for his friend's hand. "Mako-chan?"

Makoto yanks his hand away, rejecting his touch, then struggles into a sitting position, facing away from him. His arms wrap around his legs and his head drops onto his knees, reminding Haru of the way he sat that night two weeks ago, while he waited in vain for Makoto to come out of his bedroom.

Haru sits up as well, staring at the broad back and downbent head. He wants to speak, but doesn't know what to say. Confusion and pain swim around and around inside him like goldfish in a bowl. 

"I'm sorry," Makoto mumbles into his knees, so that the words are barely comprehensible. "Haru, I'm _sorry._ "

Haru just blinks at his back, beyond speech. He still doesn't know what's going on here. He remembers when he naïvely used to believe that he always understood Makoto. But he'd been very, very wrong. It's rapidly becoming painfully clear that he doesn't understand Makoto any better than he understands anyone else. People never, ever react to things the way he expects them to.

Not even Makoto.

"I didn't mean to--" Makoto is speaking in slow, broken sentences. "I know you didn't want-- after the last time-- I tried to stay away-- but I couldn't, Haru, I just _couldn't--_ "

He glances over his shoulder, a hesitant, uncertain look. Haru stares back at him blankly. Makoto sighs, and drops his head back on his knees. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers again. "Now I've screwed everything up again, and I didn't mean to... you're my best friend... can't lose you... so sorry, Haru..."

Haru blinks again, trying to process, struggling to understand. It's weird, because what Makoto is saying is almost a precise echo of his own thoughts on that night two weeks ago.

_I screwed up... this is all my fault... now you're not going to be my friend any more..._

For the first time it occurs to him that maybe Makoto isn't all that good at this stuff either.

Makoto always seems confident, even though he's quiet. He always seems to make friends easily. He's always been the peacemaker in their little group, the guy who listens, the guy who understands and supports everyone else. But maybe in this new, uncharted territory, he isn't any more certain of his footing than Haru is. Maybe he's drowning in fear and anxiety and uncertainty too.

The idea that he's not the only one who's in over his head here gives Haru strength. He reaches out and puts his hand on Makoto's shoulder.

"It's okay, Mako-chan," he says gently.

Makoto shrugs off his hand, lunges to his feet, stumbles toward his bedroom. Haru realizes he's about to retreat, to _hide_ , just like he did last time, and a strange, volatile mixture of fury and affection bursts in his chest. He gets that Makoto is freaking out, but he can't go through this again, damn it. He just can't.

He's on his feet before he knows it, moving swiftly. He grabs Makoto by the shoulder, knocking him off balance, then spins him around, shoving him forcefully into the nearest wall.

"Do _not_ walk away from me again," he growls, low and dangerous.

Makoto stares at him like he just turned into a wolf. His eyes are wide and startled, the way they used to be when he was a little kid and something scared him. He looks so lost and bewildered that a good deal of Haru's rage melts away. But not all of it. He's still pissed, pissed that Makoto would just turn his back on him, walk away from him, like that. _Twice._

"Stop it." Makoto sounds broken, like he might burst into tears at any moment. "Cut it out, Haru. I don't... I don't want to do this."

"You don't want to do what? Talk? Since when? You never stop talking!" Haru glares at him. "Except when it really _matters,_ damn it."

"Just..." Makoto tries to shrug him off, but Haru hangs on doggedly. "Just let me go!"

"I am never letting you go," Haru spits out. "Not _ever,_ Makoto. You didn't give up on me back when I was all mixed up, and I'm not giving up on you now." He's up in Makoto's face, his voice raised, and Makoto gapes at him like he's never seen him before. "Do you remember what you told me, that night we fought?"

He doesn't have to clarify. They've only fought once in all the years they've known one another. He's sure Makoto recalls every last detail of their fight, same as Haru does. But Makoto only says, "What... what did I say?"

Haru is so close now that their noses are almost touching, his hands digging into Makoto's arms, and he yells with everything he's got. " _Stop being a coward already!_ "

"I'm always a coward!" Makoto's voice lifts too, high and shrill. "You _know_ that, Haru! I'm not like you. I'm pathetic! Everyone in Iwatobi used to say I was scared of my own shadow, and they were _right,_ damn it! I'm a coward, and this--this--" His voice wavers, cracks. He finishes more quietly. "This scares the hell out of me."

Haru lets his fingers curl into Makoto's biceps while he searches for words. They never come easily, but the fact that they aren't coming easily to Makoto either helps. It's not just him, this time. They're both feeling things they can't put a name to. "It scares me too," he says at last, steadily. "But... but that doesn't mean I didn't like it, Makoto. That I didn't _want_ it, or... or you. I did. I mean, I do."

"Oh." Makoto's eyes go very round. "You do?"

Haru recalls the way he came, wrapped around Makoto, holding on for dear life as he cried out his name over and over again, and he feels a slight smile curl up one corner of his mouth. "God, Makoto, couldn't you _tell?_ How dense are you, anyway?"

"Well. But. I mean, that was, you know, a physical thing. I didn't think you really wanted..." Makoto looks miserable. "Me."

"I wasn't rolling around on the floor with anyone else, idiot."

"It's just--we've been friends a long time, and maybe you're sort of, you know, confused..."

Haru makes a rudely dismissive sound.

"Okay, maybe not confused, exactly. But we've been friends forever, Haru, and you've never had the slightest interest in anything beyond friendship before now. Or, you know, physical stuff..."

He trails off awkwardly, and Haru decides not to explain his recent revelations about how much he likes being touched, about how important physical contact has become to him. It's hard to explain, even to himself. He does note that Makoto sounds wounded, hurt, and for the first time it occurs to him to wonder if maybe Makoto has wanted to touch him like that for a long time. If maybe he's quietly had feelings for Haru for months, or maybe even years. If so, maybe it's not such a surprise if he's scared and bitter and can't quite dare believe that Haru returns those feelings.

Makoto goes on, his voice wobbling. "The thing is, you're my best friend, Haru. And that's what really matters. I can't-- I can't do anything to mess that up. I just _can't._ "

"So you figured that avoiding me instead of talking to me would improve our friendship somehow?"

Makoto puffs out a breath. "Afterwards. Last time. You didn't... you didn't react. I mean, I almost kissed you, and all you did was look at me."

That isn't totally true. Haru remembers turning his cheek into Makoto's palm, but he admits that might have been kind of subtle for his friend to pick up on, especially if he was nervous. He knows his face tends to go blank when he's confused or scared, which can make him hard to read, but even so he thought Makoto had learned to read him a long time ago. And yet Makoto had totally misunderstood what he was thinking.

Apparently he doesn't know all there is to know about Makoto, and Makoto doesn't know all there is to know about him. For some reason that thought makes his heart beat a little faster. It makes things between them a little more... exciting.

"I wanted you to kiss me," he says.

"Oh." Makoto's eyes go round again. "I couldn't tell. And... I couldn't ask. I mean, I didn't have the nerve."

Haru can understand that. After all, he could've easily grabbed Makoto and kissed him too, but he hadn't dared. The fault isn't all on Makoto's side here. Far from it.

Maybe they're both idiots.

He's already very much in Makoto's space, but he moves forward another centimeter or two, until their lips are so close that he can feel Makoto's warm breath puffing against his mouth. "I definitely wanted you to kiss me," he says. "I still do."

"Oh," Makoto says again, and Haru thinks it's a strange day when _he_ is the articulate one. But he does seem to have rendered his friend speechless. Makoto swallows, so that his Adam's apple bobs. He no longer looks scared to death. Instead he looks adorably flustered.

Haru stands on tiptoe. He remembers their earlier messy, frantic kisses, and figures that now is really a better time to practice kissing, when they're not both so turned on they can't see straight. He closes his eyes and leans in...

"Haru-chan." Makoto has a hand on his chest, and holds him off, very gently. "I want to kiss you too."

Haru opens his eyes. "You need to use your lips for that," he informs Makoto. 

Makoto smiles for the first time since this all began, the bright, happy smile that crinkles his eyes. "I'm no expert," he says, "but I knew that much."

"You need to use your lips," Haru clarifies, "for something besides _talking._ "

He leans toward Makoto again. Makoto's hand holds him off.

"I want to kiss you," Makoto says, "but first I think we need to clean up. This is kind of uncomfortable, don't you think?"

Oh. Haru sees his point. What they did together was awesome, but the aftermath was messy, to say the least, and it isn't exactly improving with time. He nods. "Okay."

"I thought..." Makoto turns beet red, as if he's suggesting something wildly perverse. "I thought maybe we could take a bath together."

Haru thinks about that. Makoto and a tub. His two favorite things. He imagines sitting immersed in warm water, touching Makoto lazily, for as long as he wants, and he feels his mouth curve up at the corners, in a real, genuine smile.

"That may be the best idea you've ever had, Makoto."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't get this up yesterday! Real life rudely intruded, as real life tends to do. I hope this small offering of smut will help you forgive me for the lateness of this chapter:-). There is somewhat more descriptive sex in this chapter, along with some more mushy stuff. 
> 
> I want to thank everyone for all the comments and the kudos. Your kind words have been very encouraging as I work toward getting back into the daily writing habit. Thank you all for being so supportive!
> 
> Once again the words quoted from the series are from the dub.

The two of them don't fit in a tub quite as well as Haru hoped.

They shower off first, to get rid of what Makoto bashfully refers to as the "gunk." ("It's called come," Haru answers with his usual bluntness, and Makoto blushes so red Haru thinks his skin could heat the water on its own.) They spend some time scrubbing each other off, touching each other, stroking exploratory palms over each other's shoulders and back and thighs. (And oh God, Makoto's thighs are _so_ worth exploring.) Makoto is shy about it at first, but rapidly gains confidence, touching Haru almost as freely as Haru is touching him. 

They share a few kisses, too. At first there is some awkwardness-- nose bumping, teeth scraping against each other, and way too much saliva-- and at one point they get so involved in a kiss they lose their balance, tip over, and collide with the tile wall. But Haru is confident that with some effort, they'll learn to avoid these sort of rookie mistakes. As a swimmer, he knows there's no substitute for practice. And in this case, as with swimming, he doesn't object to the prospect of hours and hours of practice. Some things are worth spending time to perfect.

At last they let the shower water drain out, fill up the tub with all the warm water they can coax out of the apartment building's old water heater, and, at Makoto's insistence, add some flowery bath oil he keeps under the sink. Haru prefers pure, clear water, but he has to admit that smelling like flowers is a step up from smelling like a salad. Once the tub is filled, they try to fold their bodies into it.

It isn't quite as heavenly as Haru imagined it would be. The problem is that they're slippery with soap and water and oil, and besides, Makoto is just so freaking _big._ At last they settle on a position that works, even if it's a little tight. Makoto leans back against the back of the tub, his head resting against the wall, and Haru settles in between his legs, leaning back against his chest. Makoto wraps his arms around Haru, holding him close.

And all of a sudden it _is_ heavenly.

There is nothing between them, nothing at all, and the water cradles them, holding Haru in its embrace just as Makoto does. It's so profoundly intimate that Haru feels his eyes prickle with tears. He thinks maybe Makoto feels the same, judging from the slight hitch in his breathing. He discovers he wants to touch Makoto just as badly as he did earlier, so he reaches back and uses one hand to stroke through the wet brown hair. He busies his other hand with exploring one of Makoto's thighs, running his fingers over the thick muscles, caressing the soft skin near the knee.

Makoto stirs behind him.

"Haru," he says gently. "We both have a lot of work to do."

It's the truth-- they're both buried under a ton of papers and exams right now-- but Haru can't help being slightly annoyed that Makoto is thinking about homework, all things considered. He finds this a much more interesting activity than writing papers, and would like to imagine Makoto feels the same way. Anyway, papers or no papers, he has no intention of climbing out of this tub anytime soon. He runs his hand further up Makoto's thigh, exploring, and Makoto shifts again, like he's uncomfortable. 

Something warm and blunt prods Haru from behind.

 _Oh._ It dawns on him that Makoto isn't actually thinking about homework at all. He's just shy, a little hesitant, and probably feeling a little uncomfortable about how exposed he is in this position. Anyway, he isn't exactly a fast mover when it comes to relationship stuff. It is rapidly becoming clear to Haru that if he leaves things up to bashful, blushing Makoto, the two of them will never make any forward progress. Haru considers what to do, then leans back against him more firmly, rubbing against him with cool deliberation. Makoto shudders.

"Haru!"

"I liked what we did earlier," Haru says. "But it wasn't enough."

"Unnhhhh." Makoto is definitely hard again. His arms tighten on Haru's stomach, pulling him even closer. His voice lowers to a whisper. "I'm not sure it's ever going to be enough."

Haru leans his head back against Makoto's broad shoulder. "I want you inside me," he says.

Makoto makes a choking sound. "Haru!"

Haru refuses to apologize for his bluntness. He may not have any practical, real-world experience when it comes to sex, but he's not completely ignorant. Neither, he suspects, is Makoto, even if he's sputtering and stammering like Haru just suggested cooking up a kitten for dinner. He sits quietly, resting his head against the solid wall of muscle behind him, letting Makoto get over his shock. At last Makoto comes up with something to say other than incoherent spluttering.

"Uh... we, uh, don't have any, uh..." Makoto makes it that far and then trails off, sounding terminally embarrassed.

"Lube," Haru supplies. "I mean, we have the oil, but I don't think it's exactly the same thing. Anyway, neither of us knows what we're doing. So not now. But one day soon... I would like to feel you deep inside of me, Makoto."

Makoto sounds like he's being slowly strangled. His breathing is harsh and his voice comes out suffocated. "God, Haru. You can't just blurt out stuff like that."

"Why not?"

"Because... because..." He presses his nose into Haru's wet hair. "Ohhh, Haru. You're going to kill me."

"I doubt it," Haru says, deadpan. "Blushing is almost never fatal."

"I'm not blushing! The water's just hot!"

Haru knows without looking that Makoto is in fact blushing. A lot. Makoto blushes all the time, and it's honestly one of his most charming traits. He presses back against Makoto more firmly, enjoying the sensation of the thick heat of Makoto's erection against his lower spine. Makoto makes one of those little whimpering sounds, and it's both adorable and sexy, so sexy that Haru feels his own body beginning to ache in response.

"Makoto," he says softly. "What do _you_ want us to do? And don't say homework. What do you really want to do?"

"I just..." Makoto takes a deep, wavering breath, like he's trying to get up the nerve to be honest. "I just want to touch you, Haru. I've wanted to touch you for a very long time."

And there it is, the acknowledgement that he's wanted this much longer than Haru had ever suspected. "I'm sorry," he says, as gently as he knows how. "I didn't know."

"It's not your fault. I didn't say anything. I was so scared, Haru, scared of losing you--"

"You aren't going to lose me, Mako-chan. Not ever. Don't worry."

"I just want to touch you," Makoto says again. "I don't ever want to stop touching you."

Haru feels a small smile curving his mouth again. "I have no objections to that."

He can feel the other man hesitating, so he turns his head, pressing small, affectionate kisses against Makoto's throat. Then he hooks one knee over Makoto's, so he's just as vulnerable and open as Makoto is.

"So touch me," he says.

For another long moment, Makoto doesn't move. Haru waits, and at last the big hands drift over his shoulders, shy and hesitant. Makoto's hands are ordinarily startlingly graceful and elegant for such a big guy, but right now they move with clumsy self-consciousness. Haru doesn't mind. He's simply happy to be on the receiving end of Makoto's caresses.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually he can feel Makoto's hands relaxing, can feel the stiffness slowly melt away from them. Makoto touches him more smoothly, his hands moving in a graceful dance along Haru's chest. His hand brushes Haru's nipple, and Haru gives a startled jerk.

"Oh," Makoto says, and Haru knows without looking that he's turning the color of a ripe tomato. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize. Do it again."

"Huh? But Haru--"

Haru blows out an irritated breath. It's clear that if matters are left up to Makoto, they will still be sitting here an hour from now, and all that will have changed between them is that the water will be cold. He reaches down, grabs Makoto's hand, and puts it firmly back on his chest.

"Right there," he says.

"So bossy," Makoto answers, amusement in his voice, but the long, elegant fingers stroke his nipples, then squeeze them gently. Haru's head arches back at the surprisingly pleasurable sensation. Makoto does it again, and his toes curl.

"Harder," he whispers.

Makoto squeezes a little harder, so that it almost hurts, and Haru feels it like a jolt of lightning down his spine. All at once he's every bit as hard as Makoto is. He throws his head back and closes his eyes, and when Makoto does it again he squirms so much that water sloshes out of the bathtub.

"Next time," he says hoarsely, "I want you to kiss me there. Maybe use your teeth."

" _Haru._ "

Makoto doesn't sound quite as shocked by Haru's bluntness this time. In fact, he sounds breathlessly turned on. Hungry. One of his hands slips down Haru's belly, while the other continues to play with a nipple. The big hand on his abdomen is so gentle it almost tickles, and Haru arches, moaning.

Makoto's mouth is everywhere-- on his throat, against his ear, brushing over his shoulder. At first his kisses are sweet and gentle, but then, rather unexpectedly, his teeth close on the place where Haru's neck meets his shoulder, nipping him a bit harder than he did earlier. Haru yelps, even though the little pain only serves to emphasize the other pleasurable sensations that are rippling through him.

"Makoto," he says, panting. "You're going to leave a mark. Everyone on the swim team will see it."

"Good. Then everyone will know you're mine."

All of a sudden Makoto sounds fiercely possessive. In fact, Haru thinks, he is beginning to sound confident, assured, in sharp contrast to the boy who couldn't bring himself to say the word "lube" a few moments ago. Makoto apparently hasn't yet figured out if he's a cub or a full-grown lion.

Haru remembers the way Makoto pinned him against the floor earlier, and the memory makes him suspect that eventually, once Makoto has a chance to outgrow his shyness, he'll be the one in charge most of the time. The thought of a dominant Makoto sends a pleasurable shiver down his spine. 

"I _am_ yours," he gasps out. "For as long as you want me."

"I'll always want you." Makoto bites him again, and Haru's hips jolt of their own accord.

Makoto seems to be gaining confidence, because his hand grazes over Haru's erection, very lightly. It twitches and spasms, and Haru groans at the onslaught of need that grips him. His head whirls.

" _OhMakoto **yes.**_ "

Makoto does it again, making Haru writhe. His touch is gentle and teasing, barely brushing over Haru's sensitive flesh. He continues stroking, very lightly, until Haru is whimpering with the pleasure of it. His hips jerk eagerly, sloshing water everywhere.

"I've dreamed about this." Makoto's voice is so soft Haru can barely hear him above the splashing of the water. "Dreamed about holding you like this, touching you like this. So many times."

"Makoto," Haru says through clenched teeth. The idea of Makoto lying in bed, thinking about touching Haru as he touches himself, sends fire along all his nerve endings. "More."

Despite the desperation that Haru can hear plainly in his own voice, Makoto doesn't seem to be in any hurry. Beneath the scented water, his index finger trails down Haru's hard-on, from head to root and back again, in a teasing motion that's both incredibly pleasurable and deeply frustrating. Haru makes an indignant _mmmppphhh_ sound. " _Makoto._ "

"This isn't a race, Haru. More like a nice leisurely swim in the ocean."

Haru almost snaps that this is a hell of a time to get all poetic about it, but he swallows the annoyed words back. Still, he's irritated. He's hard and he aches and he doesn't have patience for Makoto's relaxed approach to the problem. He jerks his hips up toward Makoto's hand in an unsubtle demand, but Makoto carries on stroking him with a single finger for long moments, until Haru is ready to yell with frustration.

He remembers Makoto's words, and growls to himself. If Makoto has really dreamed about touching him this way, then Makoto damn well needs to get some new dreams. Some _faster-paced_ dreams.

"Makoto," he whines, trying to wiggle around so that he can grab the other man, so that he can make him feel what Haru is feeling, make him understand the urgency and the need and the sheer desperation filling him. But Makoto uses the arm that's wrapped around his chest to hold him still. Haru tries to push back against him, to rub his ass against Makoto's still-obvious erection, but Makoto doesn't allow that, either. Despite Haru's improved musculature, he's still not as strong as the bigger man, and Makoto easily holds him motionless.

"Haru," he says, his tone gently reproving. "You asked what I wanted. This is what I want."

Haru does want to allow Makoto a chance to enjoy his fantasies, so he tries hard to relax into this. But Makoto seems to be deliberately tormenting him, caressing him with slow, deliberate strokes of his finger, making it impossible for him to settle down. The ache is all but unbearable now, and his cock is as hard as marble and leaking precome copiously, like he didn't just come half an hour ago.

He hears himself whimpering pitifully. Makoto must hear it too, because his hand slowly wraps around Haru's cock.

Haru gasps in relief, his hips responding automatically in an attempt to thrust himself into Makoto's hand. But Makoto is holding him very loosely, and it isn't enough. In fact it's worse than before. Makoto's thumb begins to trace gentle circles over the swollen head, and Haru gives a long, anguished cry, equal parts pleasure and frustration.

Makoto's thumb slips easily over him, thanks to the oil in the water as well as the moisture that he can feel spilling from himself. Haru arches back against him, straining for more pressure, more stimulation, more touch. He wants to tell Makoto that he'd do anything for him, anything at all, that he needs him more than he's ever needed anything, that he can't stand much more of this torment, but he can't seem to make his mouth work correctly. Broken sentences fall from him, words like _more_ and _now_ and _yesyesyes_ , all mixing together into a frantic, incoherent jumble.

Makoto's thumb traces steady circles over him, brushing delicately through the slick precome and spreading it everywhere, and Haru feels his hard-on jerking and twitching in Makoto's loose grip. Haru's whole body is quivering, tense, and he can't seem to draw a proper breath. His chest is heaving and his legs are trembling, like he's just raced two hundred meters at top speed.

He gradually becomes aware that Makoto isn't kissing him any longer. A glance backward tells him that Makoto is watching the motion of his own hand, the green eyes intent, focused, _hungry_. He remembers Makoto's voice saying softly, _I've dreamed about this... dreamed about holding you like this, touching you like this._

Makoto looks turned on, Haru thinks, but he also looks like a man whose every fantasy has been fulfilled. The expression of wonder, of sheer adoration, on Makoto's face makes his own eyes sting with tears.

Makoto's index finger slides down a little, finding the sensitive spot just under the head of his cock, caressing it gently, and Haru's eyes drift shut. He sobs for breath, his fingers digging into Makoto's thighs. He's so desperate by now that he's almost crying with the intensity of his need. He's never ached for anything this badly.

_"Makoto."_

"If you want something," Makoto says in his ear, "you should ask for it nicely."

"Makoto." Haru gasps for breath like he just came up from a long swim underwater. "Please, I can't wait any longer, oh _please_ Makoto--"

He must sound like he's had all he can take, because Makoto's big hand tightens around his cock, giving him the pressure he craves so desperately, stroking him hard and fast. Haru thrusts violently into the welcoming warmth of Makoto's hand, feeling the familiar heat building in him, spiraling upward. His head falls back and his fingers dig into Makoto so hard he wouldn't be surprised if he left bruises. The water sloshes around them, wrapping them both in its embrace.

_There's nothing to fear. No need to resist. You just go with it..._

Haru couldn't resist if he wanted to. He's drowning in pleasure, drowning in sensation, drowning in Makoto, and he doesn't try to fight it, just lets it all wash over him as simply and naturally as diving into the deep end of a pool. He comes in a long rush of blinding ecstasy, aware of nothing in the world except for Makoto's touch. It's all he knows, all he feels.

And all he wants.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm busy with the usual exciting weekend stuff (cleaning house, that is), so this is just a short transitional chapter. Hopefully there are only one or two chapters left!

"The water's getting cold, Haru-chan."

Haru doesn't object to the -chan. In fact he doesn't have it in him to object to much of anything. He's been snoozing lightly against Makoto's chest for a while now, and the soft voice is too gentle to really rouse him. 

"Mmmm." He stirs reluctantly, rubbing his cheek against Makoto's bare skin. He's never minded cold water-- he once dove into a pool in early spring and swam around happily, like a polar bear in the Arctic-- but he notices through his fog that the broad expanse of flesh he's resting against feels chilly. He doesn't want Makoto to get a cold, so he forces his eyelids open, blinking sleepily.

"Come on, Haru. Get up."

Haru struggles to an upright position. It's not easy, because the tub is still slippery with oil. Besides, between the massage Makoto gave him and two incredible climaxes, all his muscles seem to have turned to mush. He sighs happily, remembering the way he came last time, shaking and sobbing as Makoto's hand stroked him...

He pauses, and tries to think about what the two of them did together more clearly. He remembers Makoto's hard-on pressing eagerly against his back, but he also recalls that he hadn't offered a hand in return, so to speak, after he came. He'd simply fallen right into a pleasure-induced coma. So he's floating in a pleasant post-orgasmic haze, but Makoto presumably isn't.

He scrambles to his feet, and Makoto follows him. He gives Makoto an assessing stare, and scowls. 

"You're shivering, Mako-chan!"

"I didn't w-want to wake you till I really h-had to." Makoto is definitely not hard now, but that's not surprising, because he's so cold he's actually a little blue around the lips. Haru immediately wants to kick himself for being so self-centered. It's bad enough he fell asleep before returning the favor, but to keep Makoto sitting there in cold water for God only knows how long... ugh. Apparently sex makes him selfish, and possibly stupid as well.

"Come on," he says, taking Makoto's hand and tugging him out of the tub. They both step carefully onto the bath mat, and Haru stretches out an arm, snagging one of the fluffy blue towels they bought their first week of college. He reaches for Makoto, who shies back.

"I can dry myself, Haru."

"You can," Haru agrees. "But you're not going to. It's my fault you're shivering. Let me warm you up, okay?"

Makoto starts to object, but his protests fade into silence as Haru begins rubbing him with the towel. He dries off Makoto's dripping hair, then moves down to the wide chest and heavily muscled shoulders. At a word from him Makoto obediently turns around, and he dries off the broad back as well. Even though Makoto's not in training right now, his back is still a wonder to behold. Haru thinks he could spend all day exploring it. But Makoto is still shivering, so Haru forces himself to focus on drying him off.

He circles around to Makoto's front and drops to his knees, drying off Makoto's feet and ankles. He hears Makoto make a suffocated sound, and glances up to see that Makoto is half hard again. He can easily imagine the thought process that caused that reaction, and a slight smile curves his mouth.

He keeps on rubbing upward, drying Makoto's calves, then his thighs (which are nearly as much of a marvel of nature as his back). He notices that despite his desperation, despite the way he clutched Makoto when he came, his fingers didn't leave any bruises on the golden skin. He can't help wondering if Makoto's teeth left visible marks on his shoulders. The thought of being marked that way, marked as Makoto's, makes a pleasant warmth swirl deep in his belly.

_Everyone will know you're mine._

At last he slides the towel upward, only to have Makoto grab at him.

"I can finish drying myself," Makoto blurts, removing the towel from his hands. He hastily whips the towel around his waist, obscuring Haru's view of his impressively burgeoning erection. Haru sighs, and gets to his feet. He looks Makoto over. He's not shivering any longer, but Haru doesn't want to take any chances.

"I think we should get under a blanket to warm up."

Makoto is red again. "We had better get to our work, Haru."

Haru notices the pattern, that Makoto invariably falls back on the excuse of schoolwork every time he feels exposed, but he doesn't comment. He grabs another towel for himself and dries off with rapid efficiency, making absolutely no effort to conceal his body. He has never been especially modest anyway, but at this point covering himself up seems superfluous at best and outright silly at worst. Makoto has now very definitely seen every inch of him, so there's little point in modesty.

He raises his arms, rubbing at his hair, and Makoto glances downward as if he can't quite help himself. He's redder than before.

"We aren't going to study yet," Haru says. "First, it's your turn."

He knows Makoto understands him, because to Haru's amusement he turns a truly brilliant shade of crimson. He remembers how Makoto's attitude toward sex shifted once he became more comfortable with touching Haru, the way he was insistent, demanding, _commanding._ But now he seems to have reverted to the shy, awkward, small-town boy, the nice boy who can't say _lube_ or talk about anal sex without blushing and stammering.

"I-- I'm fine, Haru-chan. Don't worry about it."

"I fell asleep, and I shouldn't have. Not before I got a chance to return the favor." 

"Uh..." Makoto fiddles nervously with his towel, as if making sure it's firmly in place. "I don't want you to feel obligated or anything, Haru..."

Haru barely restrains an eye roll. "Have you looked in the mirror lately, Makoto? It's not exactly an imposition. I _want_ to touch you."

Makoto lifts his head and looks at him. Haru can see an expression of yearning in his eyes, but there's doubt there, too, as if Makoto can't really believe Haru wants him that much. All of a sudden he remembers Makoto's voice: _I've wanted to touch you for a very long time._

Makoto has thought about the two of them being intimate together for months, maybe years. But that also means that Makoto has had months or years to imagine that Haru doesn't want him, that Haru doesn't see him that way, that Haru couldn't ever see him that way. Haru figures those kind of thoughts must be pretty well ingrained in Makoto by this point. It's no wonder the green eyes are so clouded with doubt and apprehension.

Haru tosses his towel away. He knows he probably looks ridiculous, like he does after every swim practice, black hair tousled, standing up in spikes all over his head. But he also knows he's been working hard in the gym and that his body shows it. And judging from the way Makoto is staring at him, he's definitely not oblivious to the way Haru looks.

"Come on, Mako-chan." He holds out a hand to Makoto, just as Makoto always holds a hand out to him. Makoto stares at it for a long moment.

Then he reaches out and takes Haru's hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: the boys practice kissing. Practice makes perfect, you know.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't get anything up yesterday-- weekends are busy! This turned into... um, praise!kink, I guess you'd call it? I've been listening to One Direction's "What Makes You Beautiful" a lot and it kind of worked its way into this.

Haru figures Makoto might be most comfortable in his own bedroom, so he leads Makoto there. The room is dark except for the city lights spilling in from the window, but even in the dimness he can see it isn't quite as clean and organized as his own. There are pens and papers scattered on the desk, several books piled on the nightstand, and two or three shirts that have been tossed onto the floor instead of into a hamper. But the bed is neatly made. Haru heads for it, and Makoto immediately digs in his heels, bringing Haru to a halt.

" _Haru._ "

Haru looks back over his shoulder. Makoto has his worried face on. His eyes are wide and anxious, like he isn't quite sure why Haru led him in here. As if that isn't blindingly obvious. 

He tugs gently on Makoto's hand. "Come on. Let's warm up."

Makoto follows him, somewhat reluctantly. Haru pulls down the covers and slides under them, holding them up so that Makoto can climb under them too. But Makoto stands there, looking down at him, an odd expression on his face. He looks like he simultaneously wants to jump Haru and run away.

Haru waits. At last Makoto seems to come to a decision. He lets the towel drop to the floor, then settles down on the bed, which creaks and shifts under his substantial weight. He slides under the covers, pulling them up to his chin.

 _Progress,_ Haru thinks with satisfaction. He has Makoto in bed with him, even if the other man is rigid, keeping himself as far from Haru as the bed allows, and staring fixedly at the ceiling. Makoto is obviously scared to death, which is odd when Haru remembers how dominant he was in the bathtub, how he held Haru still while making him come, how he bit his shoulder in a deliberate effort to mark him. It's almost funny how different his current attitude is.

But it isn't really funny at all, because he doesn't like seeing Makoto so scared. He particularly doesn't like seeing Makoto scared of _him._ He can tell Makoto is swimming in a sea of insecurities right now, but he doesn't know what to say to help. As usual, words elude him.

He reaches out and places a hesitant hand on Makoto's arm. Makoto actually jumps like a startled deer, and Haru has the bad feeling he's about to bolt. He wraps his fingers gently around Makoto's bicep, despite the covers between them, and decides on the words he needs to use.

"I want to look at you," he says. "Is that okay?"

Makoto turns his head. His eyes are still wide, almost panicked. Haru's already figured out he doesn't like being exposed, being vulnerable. Which is odd, because they've spent half their life together at pools and in locker rooms, and he's seen Makoto half naked or all naked scores of times. But he guesses that it's not the same somehow. 

Maybe, he thinks, it isn't the naked part that's bothering Makoto. Maybe it's the emotional stuff, the fact that their longstanding friendship is edging nearer something else, something much more intense, more intimate. Maybe Makoto finds the thought of that kind of intimacy scary.

Or maybe it's simply the fact that Haru is looking, that he _wants_ to look. Haru supposes that makes it that much harder to just pretend this is a heat-of-the-moment thing, two friends getting a little carried away. To Makoto, lying there in bed and letting Haru look at him might make it seem very intentional. A choice, a deliberate turn onto a new road. Haru can see how that might be frightening, too.

Whatever the reason, Makoto looks terrified, but he gives a jerky nod. Haru pushes the covers gently out of his way, exposing Makoto's chest.

He carefully doesn't push down the sheets too far, because he wants to make Makoto comfortable, not freak him out further. He props himself up on an elbow and stares through the dimness, taking in the heavy muscles, the way Makoto's massive shoulders taper down to a narrow waist, the way his nipples grow hard in the chilly air. Makoto doesn't have chest hair (Haru isn't sure if that's natural or if he still shaves it out of habit from his swimming days), but there is a thin trail of hair beneath his navel, leading downward. 

Haru desperately wants to push down the covers a little further, so his gaze can follow that trail of hair further, but he restrains himself. He reaches out, very slowly and carefully, and places his hand in the center of Makoto's chest, over his heart. 

The words that rarely come easily to him bubble up, almost of their own accord, and all at once he knows what to say.

"You're beautiful, Makoto."

The green eyes flash with something like pain or anger, or maybe both. Makoto abruptly rolls over, away from Haru, so that all he can see is the stiff lines of his back. He pulls his hand back, confused. Apparently he's said something wrong again, but he doesn't understand why. 

"Makoto?"

Makoto's voice is low and rough, like he's fighting tears. "Don't make fun of me, Haru."

"What?" Haru blinks in bewilderment. "Makoto, I'm not--"

"Come on, Haru." Makoto's voice steadies into something like annoyance. "I've always been the plain one, the guy people don't really see. When we were in high school, no one looked at me. I mean, why would they, when you-- well, you have that grace that makes everyone stop to watch when you swim. Nagisa is so pretty and blond, and Rei has those long legs and-- and those eyes. And Rin-- well, Rin is Rin."

Haru knows what he means. No one else looks quite like Rin. Gou has similar coloration, but she doesn't strut through life, catching every eye with magical appeal, the way her brother does. Rin is a brightly jeweled peacock who could make anyone feel like a crow by comparison. 

Makoto is admittedly not the peacock type. But the honest truth is that Makoto is stunning in his own way, with his big, perfect body, with those brilliant green eyes that can say so much with a glance. Not to mention a smile that takes Haru's breath away. He wants to say so, but the words get tangled up on their way out of his mouth. In the end, all he manages to say is, "You're not plain."

"Cut it out, Haru. Don't patronize me, okay? I know I'm not much to look at."

"I'm not--" Haru sighs, because words are not working for him. It seems likely that they wouldn't work for anyone in this particular situation. Simple assurances aren't going to work on Makoto, because he doesn't accept what is obvious to Haru-- that he is incredibly gorgeous. Obviously he's been thinking of himself as less than attractive for a long time, if he's been comparing himself to their high school teammates.

Haru remembers Makoto's quiet voice: _I don't want you to feel obligated or anything._ This is, he realizes, more than ordinary insecurity on Makoto's part. Makoto has obviously spent a lot of time thinking that Haru doesn't see him, that Haru isn't attracted to him. A few reassurances from Haru aren't going to be enough to change that.

He realizes that he needs more than words to fix this.

Haru makes his way across the space that separates them, wraps his arms around Makoto, and begins pressing kisses to the broad back. He doesn't say anything, just tries to shower Makoto in all the affection and adoration he feels for him.

He can feel Makoto quiver beneath his lips, and he thinks he's probably quivering too. He hasn't gotten nearly enough of a chance to explore Makoto this way. First he was pinned down for most of their encounter, and then he was held still while Makoto engaged in erotic torture. Aside from a few moments of frantic, awkward kissing earlier, this is the first real opportunity he's gotten to run his hands and mouth all over Makoto. 

He intends to take full advantage of it.

He breathes in the other man's scent-- spring flowers and sunshine, a fragrance that's made up of bath oil and soap and shampoo, and Makoto himself. He remembers how good it felt when Makoto kissed along his spine, so he tries the same thing, starting at the nape of Makoto's neck and moving downward. Makoto is trembling and moaning and murmuring _Haru, ahhh Haru_ before he's gotten past his shoulder blades.

Haru moves on toward the small of his back, and Makoto sighs and groans. Haru lets his hands roam a little lower, exploring the tight contours of Makoto's ass, until Makoto is whimpering. Then he tugs him over onto his back, shoving the covers out of the way, and lowers his lips to Makoto's abdomen.

His lips explore Makoto's navel, the tautly muscled flesh above and the slightly softer skin below. He lets his lips brush through the soft brown trail of hair, but he can't go far because Makoto is very hard and his cock is resting against his stomach, twitching eagerly. Haru is tempted, very tempted, to kiss him there, but he has other plans before they get that far along. 

He shifts, moving up and over Makoto, so that he's the one on top this time, stradding Makoto's thighs. He bends over and very lightly touches his lips to Makoto's.

Their earlier kisses were frantic, hungry, and very wet. This one is almost chaste (except for the part where they're both naked in bed together), but it's very sweet. Haru's eyes drift closed, and he lets his lips move against Makoto's softly, tenderly. 

Makoto seems to like it too. He gives a little _mmmm_ sound, and his big hands come up to tangle in Haru's hair, holding him still. Haru doesn't mind. He thinks he could kiss Makoto like this forever. 

They share kisses for long moments, neither one making a move to intensify or deepen the kisses. Haru wants to let Makoto knows how much he wants him, how attracted he is to him, but he also wants to tell him how much he feels for him, to convey all the affection he feels for him, an affection that's so much a part of his soul that he can't imagine his life without Makoto in it. He hopes his kisses are telling Makoto more than words could about his feelings.

Eventually Haru moves his head away from Makoto's mouth and lets his lips trail down the long column of his throat. Makoto tilts his head back, granting him access. His eyes are closed, dark lashes resting against his cheeks like fans, and he's panting, not the way he breathes after a race but more like the sort of rapid, shallow breaths he takes when he's trying not to cry.

Haru kisses his throat, his shoulders, his chest. Then he moves back up and presses his mouth to Makoto's again. But this time Makoto's lips part, and before Haru knows it they're sharing deep kisses, tongues brushing together in a way that sends tingles down Haru's spine. It isn't as wild and wet and outright messy as it was earlier, but it makes Haru feel incredibly close to the other man.

Makoto must feel the same way, because he groans into Haru's mouth. His body is moving beneath Haru's now, like he's instinctively seeking his long-delayed release. Physically Haru has no particular interest in sex right now, thanks to two intense orgasms in a short period of time, but he nevertheless feels a very strong desire to give Makoto what he needs. He leans forward, so that Makoto's thick, hot cock presses up against his stomach, and Makoto shoves eagerly against him like he just can't help himself. 

Haru rubs against him, slowly, deliberately, and Makoto cries out his name.

Haru can feel Makoto pulsing against him, can feel precome spilling from him. He wonders how close Makoto was to his climax when Haru fell asleep on him in the tub. Pretty damn close, he imagines, because Makoto is clearly aching for some relief now. But he reminds himself that sexual release isn't all that Makoto needs.

He pulls his mouth away from Makoto's and begins kissing his face lightly, brushing kisses over his mouth and his nose and his eyelids.

"You're beautiful," he says softly, thinking Makoto might be more willing to listen, now that his walls are crumbling. "So beautiful, Makoto."

Makoto makes a strangled noise that sounds like a sob. His hips jerk, and Haru feels another gush of precome against his abdomen.

"You're the most gorgeous man I've ever known," he whispers, kissing Makoto's forehead. "I could look at you forever."

Another anguished sound, another jerk of the hips beneath him. Makoto is gasping now, his fingers digging into Haru's hips like he doesn't ever want to let him go. His skin is wet with sweat, and in the light from the window he glistens like someone scattered a handful of stars over him. He really is the most beautiful sight Haru has ever seen.

"I know you think I never really noticed you before tonight," he says softly, lowering his mouth to Makoto's again and brushing their lips together gently. "But I've been thinking about you a lot lately, Makoto, thinking about you when I'm in bed alone--"

Makoto's cock twitches against him. "Oh God, Haru, oh _God--_ "

"I can't stop thinking about how sexy you are, Makoto. How much I want to touch you. To make love to you."

He moves against Makoto, rubbing his belly along the slick, swollen length of his cock, and Makoto makes an animal noise of desire, a feral sound that Haru has never before heard come out of his quiet, gentle friend's mouth. Suddenly Makoto has him by the arms and is flipping him over onto his back, burying his face in Haru's shoulder as he thrusts against his stomach with mindless, frenzied need. 

"So beautiful," Haru says into his ear, very softly, and Makoto's voice lifts in a desperate wail.

"Haru, ahhhh, _Haru--!_ "

Haru feels the climax begin to run through him, feels the big body above him shaking with the force of it. Makoto cries out, a drawn-out, wordless sound of inutterable carnal pleasure, and his hands fist into the sheets like he's hanging on for dear life. His cock jolts hard against Haru as he climaxes in long, drawn-out spasms, his come spattering all over Haru's belly.

Haru wraps his arms around him, holding him close. Slowly the shudders fade to shivers and the cries fade to rough, rapid panting. Makoto is suddenly very heavy against him, but this time Haru can't bring himself to object, or to suggest that Makoto roll off. He's not letting go of Makoto again.

Not tonight, and not ever.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another brief transitional chapter. I got busier than expected this week-- thanks for your patience! The next chapter will be absolutely, positively, super-definitively the final chapter.

_Click._

The faint, distant noise rouses Haru from a deep and contented sleep. He rolls onto his back and covers his eyes with an arm, because there is an annoying amount of light streaming in from somewhere. 

He lies still for a moment, dozing, then stretches luxuriously. A bone-deep contentment saturates his body, and for a moment he can't think why he's so happy. It's not like him to be anything but grumpy early in the morning, but right now he feels like he does when he's swimming-- so peaceful he's almost ecstatic.

His mind drifts toward wakefulness, and he remembers kissing Makoto, touching Makoto. The noises Makoto made, the way he sounded when he sobbed Haru's name. Makoto shoving him onto his back and taking what he wanted, there at the end. It's odd to think that Makoto has this dominant side Haru's never really seen before. It's even weirder to admit that he likes it, that he enjoys having Makoto pushing him around in bed. But he definitely does.

He stretches again, but pauses when his arm doesn't come into contact with anything except warm, rumpled sheets. His eyes pop open as a sudden alarm hits him.

_Makoto. Shit, where's Makoto?_

He bolts upward in bed and looks around, almost frantically. Golden daylight is streaming in through the window, but the room is empty except for him. He remembers the click that awakened him, and realizes it was probably the sound of Makoto leaving their apartment.

Even so, he scrambles to his feet and pads out of the room, oblivious to the fact that he's stark naked. "Makoto?"

The apartment is empty. Haru looks at the clock and swears again. He only has an hour before his first class, and there's no way he's going to get that English paper done now. He's going to have to beg for an extension. And he's probably going to fail his quiz in history because he hasn't studied...

He shrugs all that off. School is important, but right now he's a lot more worried about Makoto. He knows that his friend was freaked out by what happened between them last night. And the fact that he didn't wake up Haru suggests that he didn't want to talk about it. He knows Makoto is a responsible guy, and he's almost certainly gone to class. But after that, then what?

Haru wonders if Makoto will come home tonight, if he'll barricade himself in his room like he did last time things got intimate between them, or if he'll find another place entirely to stay. Or, since it's Friday, if he even might just head home to Iwatobi for the weekend to figure things out, or to get away from the awkwardness of this-- whatever _this_ is. Makoto might be a lion, but he's still a cowardly one, and he doesn't always stand and face what scares him. He's more likely to run from this than deal with it.

"Shit," Haru says again to the empty room. He hunts around for his cell phone and finds it in his backpack near the door. He checks, but there are no messages.

He notices there's a itchy, dried patch of "gunk" on his stomach, and sighs, then heads for the bathroom to take a shower. Water always makes everything better, after all.

But even after standing under the rush of hot water for fifteen minutes, he doesn't feel much of an improvement in his mental state. He's clean, but his mind is still racing anxiously, worrying about Makoto.

Water, he thinks grimly as he towels off, can't solve everything.

*****

By lunch, Makoto hasn't texted him, and Haru is getting very worried. He sends a quick message: _R u ok?_

He doesn't get a reply.

*****

Haru's classes are naturally something of a disaster. Swim practice is even worse because he can't get into the tranquil, semi-ecstatic state that water usually induces in him. His mind keeps churning over everything-- the noises Makoto makes when he comes, the way he goes crazy when Haru calls him beautiful, the taste of his mouth, the smell of his skin. The erotic images are a pleasant jumble in Haru's brain, clashing violently with his anxious worries about whatever might be going on inside Makoto's head right now. It all ruins his concentration, making his stroke as jerky as it was in middle school, so that his timed efforts are atrociously slow. His coach ought to be annoyed with him, but instead he utters a good-natured laugh, and lets Haru go a few minutes early.

"Your mind is obviously on romance, Nanase-kun. You have a date tonight, I'm guessing. Get out of here, and enjoy your evening. Tomorrow I'll work you twice as hard."

How his coach knows his mind is on someone, Haru can't guess. He figures he must be walking around with stars in his eyes or something, and that's a little embarrassing. Still, Haru is grateful for the understanding, even if it's somewhat misplaced. He doesn't actually have a date, after all. He doesn't know if Makoto will even be home when he gets there.

But he hopes.

He showers off more thoroughly than usual, because he wants to smell like soap instead of chlorine, just in case Makoto is home waiting for him. Once he's done showering, he glances in the mirror (something he rarely does) to finger-comb his hair, which always stands on end after he swims. Abruptly the minor mystery of why his coach thought he was going on a date is solved. There are several very noticeable marks on his neck and shoulder where Makoto bit him. He stands there for a moment, looking at the dark red marks, hearing Makoto's voice in his mind.

_Everyone will know you're mine._

He's always been a very private person, so he's a little surprised at how much he likes the idea that everyone can see what he was doing last night. One of the marks is high enough on his neck that it shows a bit even when he's wearing a shirt, but he finds he doesn't mind. He changes back into jeans and a t-shirt and heads out into the evening air.

Walking slowly along the crowded sidewalk, he tries to figure out what he should do. If Makoto is at the apartment, then they should talk. They _need_ to talk.

And damn it, that's a problem, because he's no good at talking. Even with Makoto, his conversations seem to go awry more often than not these days. He tries hard, but words are not and have never been useful tools for him.

And yet in the end, it always seems to come down to talking. He knows he can't expect Makoto to automatically understand what's in his head, not this time, not when Makoto has already displayed so many insecurities about the changes in their relationship. He needs to tell Makoto that he wants this, that he wants _Makoto._ That he wants more than friendship. So much more. That he can't go back to the way things were, and that he hopes Makoto can't either.

This is all crystal clear in his head, but he knows perfectly well that if he tries to articulate it, he will blurt out something brilliant, like _You can sleep in my bed now._ Or _We should take baths together from now on._ Or even _I think we should buy lube._

_Shit,_ he thinks for about the eighteenth time that day. What the hell do normal people in relationships do, anyway? If he was a regular guy, what would he do for his boyfriend after they shared a night like that together?

The word jolts him. _His boyfriend._ He and Makoto have been friends more or less forever, but _boyfriend_ is a strange new category. He thinks about it, trying out the word, seeing if it fits the situation. Does Makoto actually want to be his boyfriend, or is this just going to be a friends-with-benefits kind of thing? Or is Makoto just going to pretend none of it happened at all?

Haru isn't sure, but he knows that Makoto isn't much better with this relationship stuff than he himself is. It seems likely that Makoto is either going to keep on avoiding him, or pretend that they're still just friends and that nothing more intimate ever happened. Which means it's up to Haru, of all people, to force a conversation on the topic.

He walks past a flower shop with a beautiful rainbow of blossoms in the front window, and comes to a halt, studying all the different varieties of flowers with interest. It occurs to him that people get flowers for their significant others. Roses are the usual cliché, right? Even though roses are useless and die in two days, and besides, they make Haru sneeze. But still, roses seem like the right thing to do. Roses are a Romantic Gesture, and Haru's pretty sure that's what is called for in this situation. At least, that's what's called for if he wants to keep Makoto around. Which of course he does.

Haru sucks in a deep breath like he's preparing for a dive, then turns into the flower shop.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this more or less finished since Saturday, but it's been a busy weekend and I just haven't found the time to post it till now. Sorry!! Also, I apologize because this is still not quite the end. The darn thing just doesn't want to wrap up! My thanks to those of you who are still patiently reading and kindly leaving comments and kudos. I know it's wound up to be much longer than I originally projected, and I appreciate your patience in continuing to read!
> 
> Points to xSmartassChibix, who correctly predicted where I was going with this chapter.

"Ah-choo!"

The little flower shop is dark and crowded, its narrow aisles crammed with a thousand different sorts of plants. Haru looks at the roses first, an array of flawless blooms in red, white, pink and yellow, but almost instantly comes to the conclusion that they are not what Makoto needs-- and not simply because they make him sneeze fiercely. They just aren't right somehow. They're too soft, and their petals are furled too tightly, and they look delicate. None of that makes him think of Makoto.

He moves on toward the back of the shop. There are lesser cut flowers, like carnations and tulips and one weird flower that definitely has what appears to be a penis sticking out of it. Some evil impulse in Haru makes him think seriously about taking home a bouquet of those, but he manages to slap back his inner middle schooler. He's trying to make a Romantic Gesture here, and a dozen penis flowers are not going to fit the bill.

He wanders further into the labyrinthine depths of the store, losing himself amidst the brightly-colored curtains of leaves and petals. The shop is larger than it appeared from the sidewalk, but oddly enough, he's enjoying walking amongst the plants. It's almost like swimming-- an immersion into an entirely different element. Almost a different world.

He walks on, unsure what he's looking for, sneezing occasionally. At last he pauses at a glimpse of a familiar color. He contemplates the plant that's caught his eye for a long moment, then picks it up, looking at it from every angle, studying it carefully.

This is right, he decides at last. This is exactly right.

This is Makoto.

*****

Makoto is home.

Haru feels an enormous weight lift off his shoulders when he sees Makoto's boat-sized shoes just inside their apartment. Makoto hasn't decided to make a run for Iwatobi, and that in itself is more than Haru dared to hope for. He removes his own shoes, then looks around cautiously. Makoto is not in the living room, but there's a wonderful odor drifting through the air, a smell that suggests he's probably in the kitchen. 

Haru puts down his purchase on a little table near the door, then follows his nose to find Makoto stirring something on the stove. Relief swirls inside him, making him light-headed. He means to say something warmly sincere like _Hey, Makoto, I was a little worried about you,_ or _Hi there, I'm glad to see you._ Or even _Hey, want to hang out tonight, maybe watch a movie or something?_

Instead he blurts, "Since when can you cook?"

Makoto looks over his shoulder. A faint smile crinkles the corners of his eyes.

"I can't," he answers. "But this is simple. Something I used to make for the twins when Mom and Dad left me in charge."

Makoto is clad in worn jeans that hug his ass and a dark green t-shirt that clings lovingly to his shoulders, and something hot and hungry curls in Haru's gut. He feels his heart rate accelerate, and wonders if it will always be like this now. He's gone through life experiencing a pleasant affection every time he sees Makoto's face, but now the usual affectionate response seems to have morphed into something a little more... primal.

Haru wants to launch himself across the kitchen, shove Makoto into one of their rickety kitchen chairs, and do things to him that will make him blush beet red.

 _Dinner,_ he reminds himself. _It's dinnertime, not attack-Makoto-in-a-chair time._

Unfortunately.

"Smells good," he says.

"There's enough for two," Makoto says. It's not the most graceful offer ever, but Haru remembers that Makoto sometimes has trouble with words too. Besides, he knows that one of the ways his friend shows affection is by taking care of others, and since Haru's never seen him attempt anything more complex than ramen, the fact that he's actually cooking dinner for them both is clearly a positive sign. Haru busies himself setting the table and pouring water for them both, using the mundane chore as a way of keeping his hands to himself, and Makoto dishes out the food onto plates and brings them to the table.

It's a simple meal of beef, vegetables and rice. Haru prefers mackerel, but he's learned that one of the downsides of sharing a place with someone else is that sooner or later-- usually sooner-- the other person will rebel against having mackerel three times a day. In this case it took Makoto about two weeks to inform him that if he had to smell the odor of mackerel cooking first thing in the morning ever again, he was damn well going to kick Haru out to fend for himself on the streets. Haru has managed to restrain his mackerel intake to a mere four or five times a week since then.

He's even learned to like beef. Not that he'd ever tell Makoto that.

Except... he really should, shouldn't he? If this is like a boyfriend thing, then complimenting Makoto on the food he took the trouble to prepare is probably the right thing to do.

"S'good," he mumbles through a mouthful, and then could instantly kick himself. _Good going, Haru. What an incredibly thoughtful, sincere, heartfelt compliment._

Makoto's eyes crinkle again. "It must be, if you're stuffing your mouth like that. Or are you just starving? Did you have a rough practice?"

 _No, I just had a night of wild sex and I'm running low on calories._ Haru swallows the words along with the vegetables, and shakes his head.

"Practice was a little short, actually. The coach told me to go home."

Makoto frowns. "Everything okay?"

"Apparently," Haru says dryly, "my mind was not on my swimming."

Makoto looks stricken. "Haru-chan. I'm _sorry._ "

"It's not your fault. Well... I guess it is, in a way. I've been worrying about you today, you know. Why didn't you text me back?"

Makoto stares down at his plate. "I didn't know what to say," he says at last, very quietly.

"Yeah, me neither. Except..." Haru tries to remember all the things he meant to say. _I want you, I need you, and I can't stand it if things go back to the way they were before._ Those are good, sensible, helpful words that would probably help the two of them clarify this situation. But what he says instead is, "I almost bought you roses."

Makoto jerks his head up. His eyes are wide and his cheeks flush pink.

"I didn't, though." He could swear Makoto looks disappointed, so he stumbles on. "I mean, I tried. I went into the flower shop, and I looked at them, and... they just didn't remind me of you, Mako-chan." He thinks about it. "They reminded me of Rin, actually."

"The red ones are the color of his eyes," Makoto says quietly. He looks almost sad, and Haru remembers him talking with a touch of envy about how handsome Rin is. It occurs to Haru that maybe running on about how another guy, especially a stunningly gorgeous one with garnet eyes and long flowing locks, makes him think of roses isn't the greatest idea right now. But he can't seem to shut himself up. 

"Yeah, they are. It's more than that, though. I mean..." He struggles for the right words. "Roses are showy. High-maintenance. A little fragile. Nothing like you."

Makoto just nods dully, like he gets it. Like he understands all too clearly that he isn't exotic and delicate and lovely. Haru can see him totally misconstruing the point he's trying to make here, and he goes on, trying harder and (as usual) failing to make himself understood. "And besides-- the roses in the shop were all closed up, Makoto. Tightly furled, like this." He balls up a fist to illustrate. "Not like you at all."

Makoto still looks confused and a little wounded, so Haru drops his chopsticks with a clatter, getting to his feet in frustration. "I just didn't think roses were right, okay? So instead I got you..." He stalks into the living room, retrieving the plant he purchased, and carries it into the kitchen, showing it to Makoto.

"Ivy?" Makoto says, a little dubiously.

Haru realizes in dismay that his Romantic Gesture is failing to impress. Damn it, why is he so bad at this stuff? "The leaves are the same color as your eyes," he says, struggling to explain. He holds the little potted ivy up to illustrate, waving at the glossy green leaves. "And... it's not like the roses, see? They were cut, so they can't grow any more. But the ivy is rooted in the soil. Growing. Stretching outward. Open to the rain and the sunshine. Open to everything."

"Oh." Makoto's expression lightens a fraction, and he looks at the plant more carefully. "It _is_ really pretty, Haru."

"It's beautiful," Haru says firmly. "Much more beautiful than roses."

" _Haru._ " Makoto gulps, turning pink again, and Haru is abruptly reminded of his responses last night to the word _beautiful_. "The funny thing is... I bought you flowers too."

Haru blinks at him, and warmth lodges in his chest. Makoto had apparently been thinking along the Romantic Gesture line as well, and that makes something deep inside him swell and ache. He may not be very good with relationship stuff, but he's pretty sure friends with benefits rarely buy one another flowers. "Roses?" he says, figuring his bashful Mako-chan is far more likely to have bought a traditional bouquet than penis flowers.

"No. Honestly, roses didn't make me think of you, either. I looked for a long time, and eventually I got you..." He gets up and grabs a pot from where he'd placed it on top of the refrigerator, and shows it to Haru. "It's a hyacinth."

It's a lovely column of small flowers on a stalk, precisely the same blue as Haru's eyes. Like the ivy, it isn't cut, but is instead growing energetically in dark, rich soil. Haru looks at it approvingly, inhaling the sweet fragrance that drifts to him. It smells like spring, just like Makoto does. "I like it. It's the color of water."

"It reminded me of you." Makoto's eyes crinkle. "Little, but striking."

"Hey!" Haru ruffles with annoyance, because he's only two inches shorter than Makoto. Well... maybe three. Four at the outside. He's definitely not _little._

"I'm just teasing you, Haru-chan. It actually made me think of you because... well, it's blue, like you said. Like your eyes, like water. But also... it's growing straight up, see? Reaching for the sky. Just like you."

Haru feels his cheeks flush. "That isn't really me," he mumbles, and Makoto looks down at him, his eyes more serious.

"It _is_ you, Haru. Now that you've found your dream, I know you're going to do great things. And I... I would like to still be standing by your side when you do." His voice drops almost to a whisper. "I don't want to lose you to the world, Haru-chan."

Haru puts the ivy down in the center of the kitchen table, then takes the hyacinth out of Makoto's big hands and places it carefully next to the ivy. He stands on tiptoe and presses a kiss to Makoto's lips.

"I told you last night," he says softly. "You aren't going to lose me, Mako-chan. Not ever."

" _Haru._ " Makoto's arms come around him, holding him lightly but possessively. "Haru, listen, I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have run out of here this morning without talking to you."

"You should be sorry." Haru bats him lightly on the back of his head. "I could've slept right through my first class."

"No, Haru-chan. I set the alarm for you." Makoto looks shocked at the very idea that he might allow Haru to oversleep, and Haru can't hold back a small smile, because that is just so Makoto, to ensure that Haru is taken care of, even while he's racing out the door to avoid post-intimacy awkwardness. 

"I didn't hear it. I guess I woke up and left before it went off. But thank you."

"And..." Makoto hits him with the full force of his sorrowful puppy-dog eyes. Those eyes have always made it impossible for anyone to ever hold a grudge against him. Haru can't resist them any more than anyone else can, and he slides his arms around Makoto's neck. "I'm sorry I didn't respond to your text. The truth is, I was thinking. About this. About..."

 _About us,_ Haru fills in mentally when Makoto trails off. He remembers his own worried thoughts about where they might be headed, the boyfriend vs. friends-with-benefits question, and nods. "Me too," he says.

"I was thinking that maybe..." Makoto's voice fades out again, and he glances toward the table, at the two plants sitting side by side. Haru waits, but Makoto doesn't say anything else.

When the silence gets too long, too oppressive, Haru opens his own mouth.

"I don't think there's quite enough room in the center of the table for both plants, the way they are," he says. "I was thinking maybe we need to, you know, transplant them. Put them together into one pot."

A little line appears between Makoto's eyebrows. "I'm not sure that's a good idea," he answers slowly. "I mean, they might not do that great together, long-term. They're really different kinds of plants, and I think the ivy might kind of cling to the hyacinth. Stop it from growing like it should. Maybe pull it down entirely, sooner or later."

The softly spoken words make Haru's chest hurt. Makoto has pulled him up, literally and figuratively, so many times he's long since lost count. The idea that Makoto, of all people, might be worried about holding him down, holding him back, seems absurd. And yet it explains an awful lot about how freaked out Makoto obviously is about all this.

"I don't think so," he answers. "There's plenty of room for both of them. Anyway, the ivy might even help support the hyacinth, for all we know." Haru hesitates, bites his lip, lets himself admit to one of his own insecurities. "The problem with growing straight up is that it's really easy to fall."

"It's a nice strong plant. I don't think there's any danger that it's going to fall. I feel like the hyacinth would be just fine on its own."

"I'm sure the ivy would be fine by itself, too. But I think the two of them will be pretty together, growing all intertwined like that. Maybe prettier than they are when they're separate. Maybe... happier."

"You might be right," Makoto concedes. "Anyway, I suppose there's no way to be sure how they'll grow together till we give it a try, is there?"

Haru presses his face into Makoto's shoulder. He breathes in the scent of spring sunshine, breathes in Makoto, and for the first time since he woke up this morning, he feels truly balanced, serene, _peaceful_. "I definitely think we should try."

He feels Makoto's arms tighten around him, feels his lips brush his hair.

"All right, Haru-chan," Makoto says softly. "We'll try."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "penis flower" is an anthurium. I had a friend who worked in a flower shop in college, and I used to snicker at them. I was very tempted to have Haru take a bouquet of them home to Makoto. Apparently my inner middle schooler is still alive and kicking, too.
> 
> Ivy has a lot of symbolism attached to it, including fidelity and friendship. It clings to everything, grows vigorously, and is tough to get rid of (my parents' yard was overrun with the stuff when I was a kid and I remember the enormous job we had in rooting it all out-- it eventually came back despite our best efforts). Hyacinths, of course, are named for Apollo's male lover Hyacinthus. Also, they are super pretty and I love them.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took a while to get this done! I got busier than expected this week. But it's finally all finished, yay! Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for your kind comments and kudos-- I really appreciate all the lovely feedback!

After they finish eating dinner, Makoto tosses down a comforter on the living room floor and then tugs Haru down onto it, pulling him into his arms. He's being forceful again, but Haru doesn't mind. In fact it gives him an odd melting sensation in the pit of his stomach. He wraps his arms around Makoto's waist and buries his face in his chest.

For a long while they just sit there, arms around each other. Makoto's back is propped up against the old couch, and Haru's legs are draped over Makoto's, so he's more or less sitting in Makoto's lap. Makoto's face is pressed against the top of his head, and Haru feels warm and happy and thinks he might just fall asleep like this.

But then Makoto's hand strokes through his hair, and he begins to wake up.

Makoto's hand is gentle, careful, like he's always wanted to touch Haru's hair and is finally indulging the impulse. His fingers stroke along Haru's scalp, then thread carefully through the strands of his hair. He's as gentle as if he were patting one of the many stray cats he's befriended, and Haru can't help the sigh of pleasure that escapes him.

Makoto seems to take that as encouragement. He strokes a little more firmly, and his lips brush over Haru's forehead in a whisper-soft caress. It's such an affectionate gesture that Haru's throat tightens, and he can't stop himself from lifting his head and kissing Makoto's throat in response. He can feel the pulse beating beneath his lips, fast and steady, and Makoto's fingers tangle into his hair in a wordless demand for more.

Haru is happy to oblige. He lets his lips trail up and down Makoto's throat, brushing over his Adam's apple, the base of his throat, and then trailing upward to press kisses just under his jawline.

Makoto makes a low, dangerous sound, and before Haru knows it he's on his back with Makoto looming over him.

He gulps, because the green eyes are filled with something that is not at all Makotolike. Something dark and hungry and greedy. Makoto looks like he's overcome with lust, and it's such an oddly alien look on his face that it's almost scary.

Of course, he could never be truly frightened of his Mako-chan. But it's nevertheless exciting to see Makoto respond that way, and Haru feels his heart starting to pound in his chest. He lifts his arms to slide them around Makoto's neck, but Makoto seems to have different ideas, because he catches Haru by the wrists, pinning his arms to the floor above his head.

It's not like a wrestling match. Haru doesn't struggle. He couldn't if he wanted to, because Makoto's hands are like manacles, unyielding, unrelenting. He knows that Makoto would let him up if he objected, of course, but he discovers that he doesn't want to get free. He wants to see where this leads.

He stares into Makoto's eyes, unblinking, a look not of defiance but of challenge. 

Makoto's teeth flash in that feline grin, and he lowers his head to Haru's ear. He presses a kiss to the skin there, making Haru shiver, and then his tongue is stroking along the curve of Haru's ear, and Haru gasps, his spine arching.

" _Makoto._ "

It seems strange that such a simple touch can make his body catch on fire this way, but the light, sweet caress of Makoto's tongue makes heat shoots down his spine, straight into his cock. He's instantly hard. Makoto does it again, and he moans, a long _mmmmmmm_ sound that might an effort at Makoto's name, or possibly might just be sheer incoherent babble.

Makoto still has his wrists pinned firmly, but Haru needs contact. His body aches for it. He lifts a leg and wraps it around Makoto's ass, trying to pull him closer. Unfortunately for him, Makoto is unmovable. He leans over Haru, his body only a few very tempting inches away, as he bites gently down on Haru's earlobe.

Haru is pretty sure he's moaning in earnest now, but he's not sure what he might be saying, other than Makoto's name and the words _please_ and _yes_ and _now,_ uttered in what may be the most pathetic tones he's ever heard come out of his own mouth. It's absolutely ridiculous that he's getting this turned on over a few kisses to his ear, of all the damn places. 

But everyone has a weakness, and his appears to be attached to the sides of his head.

It's possible, of course, that it's not so much the fact that his ears are sensitive as that he likes having Makoto pin him, likes it when Makoto takes charge this way. He's already figured out he's got a bit of a kink and he likes being pushed around a little, so maybe that's what's making him react like this right now. He's not sure, and his brain is far too foggy to analyze his responses. All he knows for sure is that he's going _crazy._

Makoto is experimenting now, blowing gently into his ear, exploring with his tongue, and Haru's so hard that he's pretty sure he's going to pass out if he can't get a little relief, a little pressure against his aching erection. He turns his head, and to his own embarrassment he finds himself nuzzling Makoto's throat, kissing him frantically, like they're in the throes of some wild sex act. Makoto utters his gentle laugh-- not unkindly, but more a soft huff of delighted discovery.

"Haru," he says, humor lacing his voice. "You're so easy."

Haru has nothing to say to that. He is absolutely, undeniably easy, at least as far as Makoto is concerned. Makoto has managed to reduce him to a shaking, quivering ball of need so simply that it's almost absurd. He wishes that his kisses were having the same effect on the other man, but as far as he can tell Makoto is still firmly in control of his body's responses.

The scent of Makoto's skin drifts to him like flowers on a spring day, tempting, tantalizing. He opens his eyes and sees that Makoto is still in that old green t-shirt, clinging to his muscled frame like a second skin. It's impossibly sexy, but he remembers the way Makoto felt against him last night, hot and sweaty and _bare,_ and he wants that again, so badly that he can barely breathe past the need clogging his throat. He wants Makoto so much it hurts. 

He strains against Makoto's hands, trying to break free, but the bigger man has a firm grip on him, and holds him still easily. Haru whimpers, bucking his hips, and Makoto kisses his forehead gently.

"Shhh," he says, his voice soft. "Do you want me to let you go, Haru?"

"I want--" Haru's voice is quavering so badly he can hardly speak. He thinks he's on the verge of crying again, which is stupid. "I just want to take your shirt off, Mako-chan."

Makoto hesitates half a second, then his hands let go of Haru's wrists, and he's scrabbling frantically at Haru's shirt. Haru grabs for his shirt too, and they tear at each others' clothes with a sudden fierce desperation. The shirts are tossed aside, and Makoto bends, his mouth fastening on Haru's collarbone, kissing and licking and nibbling. Haru writhes under him, panting, and his arms automatically wrap around Makoto's shoulders.

Makoto's mouth moves lower, and through a haze of lust Haru remembers his own voice. _Next time, I want you to kiss me there. Maybe use your teeth._ Makoto must remember too, because his lips close over Haru's erect nipple, sucking gently but firmly. Haru hears himself crying out, and then Makoto's teeth are biting down carefully, and he almost comes right then and there.

"Ahhh, Makoto! _Fuck!_ "

Maybe Makoto should've kept his wrists pinned, because his fingers are digging into Makoto's shoulder blades, so hard it probably hurts. But he can't help himself. He's falling apart, dizzy with need and hunger and desperate desire, and he has to hold onto Makoto tightly, or he might not survive this.

When Makoto moves back up his body, though, his hands let go automatically and go to work on Makoto's jeans. Makoto seems to think that's a good idea, because his hands move down to Haru's waistband as well. Seconds later, they're both shoving off their jeans and underwear.

And then Makoto is settling onto him, completely bare, and his heavy body is everything Haru wants, everything he needs. Makoto rests his weight on his forearms so as to not smash the smaller man beneath him, but his hard, hot cock presses against Haru's, giving Haru the pressure he needs so badly. It feels like satin against his aching flesh, and his hips jerk in automatic response, but with the too-fast motion it slips away from him.

He sobs, his fingernails raking Makoto's back in frustration.

"Shhhh," Makoto whispers again, soothing him, and then he reaches between them and takes them both in his big hand, holding them together, hot and wet and smooth. Haru thrusts desperately, crying out with relief and pleasure.

Makoto moans his name, _Haru-chan, **Haru-chan,**_ and then he's moving too, in a slow, easy cadence that's in sharp contrast to Haru's wilder movements. But within moments they fall into the same steady rhythm, and their bodies move together in a graceful dance, undulating like they're swimming underwater. Their mouths meet, lips parting and tongues slipping together in a carnal rhythm that echoes the movements of their bodies.

Their cocks slide against one another, cradled within Makoto's rough, gentle palm. Precome spills everywhere, makes everything slippery and wet, and it's too much, too fast, so pleasurable it's almost painful. Or maybe it's the unaccustomed intimacy that makes Haru ache so terribly. This is the most intimate thing they've done so far, and his throat is tight with the emotion of it.

Makoto, he thinks, is his now, all his. His boyfriend. Admittedly they haven't used that wording yet, out loud anyway. But he remembers Makoto's voice saying, _All right, Haru-chan. We'll try,_ and he knows they're on the same page here. Makoto is his. And he--

He belongs to Makoto.

Haru pulls his mouth away, arching his head back in an unconscious gesture of complete surrender. His hands run all over Makoto's back and shoulders and ass, and Makoto lavishes kisses over his cheeks and ears and throat, and it's so impossibly sweet that Haru wants it to last forever. But too soon Makoto's hand tightens on them both, and his long, smooth movements grow choppy and rough. Haru hears him gasping for breath, feels him shaking, and he knows they're both losing control.

He can't hold himself back much longer either. His balls are taut, a tremendous tension is coiling in his lower belly, and his thighs are trembling. He hears his own harsh panting, and knows he's close, so close--

Makoto moves against him with sudden frantic violence, making a long wild sound of rising ecstasy. Haru's hips jerk hard in response, and then he's coming, _they're both coming,_ and it's hot and wet and so intense that he claws desperately at Makoto's back again, crying out his name like it's the only word he knows. Pleasure rolls over him and through him like a summer storm, leaving him spent and helpless in its wake.

He feels his eyes burning, and knows that tears are slipping down his cheeks.

Great. He's crying after sex. He's pretty sure that's a ten on the uncool meter-- maybe an eleven-- but he can't seem to help himself. He's never been very good at dealing with emotions, and what they just did together seems to have somehow opened up a whole new barrel of them. He feels overwhelmed, and doesn't know how to cope with any of it. He wraps his arms around Makoto and presses his face into the big shoulder, sniffling.

It's a little comforting to hear Makoto sniffling too. Maybe, he thinks, it isn't just him. Maybe some emotions are too big, too raw, for anyone to deal with easily.

"Haru," Makoto says into his hair. "Haru-chan."

Makoto's voice is choked, and he knows for sure then that Makoto is crying too, that the other man is just as overwhelmed as he is. Warm affection pools in his chest. They still have a lot to work out between them-- so many insecurities to work through, so much to figure out-- but he feels like they somehow took a step forward tonight. At least he's pretty sure that in the morning, he'll awaken to find Makoto next to him, instead of finding he's fled out the door again. And that's a start.

He runs his hand through the disheveled brown hair, breathes in the smell of sex-- sweat, come, and the scent of Makoto's skin-- and discovers that despite the tears running down his face, he's happy. Very happy.

He tightens his grip on Makoto, holds him closer than ever.

"It's okay," he says softly. "It's okay, Mako-chan."

*****

Nanase Haruka likes to be touched.

He _really_ likes it, he decides, curling into Makoto's arms as they drift toward sleep. They're still sprawled together on the living room floor, the quilt pulled haphazardly around them, and it's far more comfortable than it has any right to be. Makoto's wrapped around him like the ivy he makes Haru think of, and Haru rubs his cheek against the warmth of the broad chest like a cat, almost purring as Makoto's fingers sleepily stroke his shoulder in return.

Of course, it's still just Makoto that he wants to be touched by. He can't imagine caressing someone else this way. It's only Makoto that makes him yearn for physical contact... but that's enough. It's more than enough.

It's nice, he thinks, to be able to touch Makoto without any pretense-- without the excuse of horror movies, or wrestling matches, or even tickle fights. It's nice to be able to caress him, to be able to run his fingers over Makoto's warm golden skin, or to rumple his messy brown hair, just because he wants to. It's even better to feel Makoto touching him in return.

He threads his fingers through Makoto's, and falls asleep holding his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and for all the kind feedback! The sequel is called "Teach" and it's also completed. There will be a third story in this series, called "Trust." (Edit: "Trust" is now completed as well.)
> 
> I'm on Tumblr as gemwrites.


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